Normal Days
by MidnightDawn999
Summary: Anatoly and Vladimir oneshots. (And the Russians of Veles Taxi.) (From crack shots to hurt comfort.)
1. Chapter 1

**One!shot challenge! Enjoy, God bless...**

"What can I get for ya?"

"Vodka."

"And you?"

"Vodka."

"Making it easy for me, are you?" The bartender grabbed glasses in one hand, and a bottle in the other, topping them off with the beverage. "So, the accents – when did you come over?"

"Month ago," Vladimir growled, looking around himself at the inhabitants of the bar. Al drunken – someone sang a horrid rendition of… Something unrecognizable, and others seemed to be enjoying it, shockingly enough.

"Welcome to America, then. You like it here?" She slid the glasses across the bar, waiting for a response even as she started washing the counter.

"I'll like it just fine," Vladimir paused to glance over his shoulder, scowling at the singing man, "After I kill him."

Anatoly silently listened to the conversation, drinking from the glass.

"Well," the bartender laughed, "You wouldn't be the first to say it. I'll leave you to your drinks, then."

"If he does not shut up, I will Отрежьте то, что торчит..."

"Not here, Vladimir."

Vlad's eyes narrowed, annoyance bordering on anger. "Fine. People will hear about man mysteriously vanishing,then…"

"I'm surprised, that's a kindness for you, my brother."

"I hadn't gotten to part about cutting off his hhhead."


	2. Chapter 2

Vlad pushed the bishop forward, before dropping his arm back down onto his knee. Anatoly stared contemplatively, frowning in thought. A long moment passed before he moved his queen, taking a castle.

The sat on the floor, chess board in front of them. "Bad move," Vladimir stated, leaning forward and knocking over the queen. Anatoly pressed bent fingers against his lips, watching the pieces as though he expected them to walk off all on their own.

Anatoly muttered something in Russian, before moving again. "Check."

Vlad growled under his breath, moving his king out of the way. "Kings don't get killed by pawns," he spat indignantly.

"Check mate."

Vladimir's eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth, spitting out a curse in a foreign tongue. "This is not how I die." He glared at the board, and it looks could kill, the pieces and Anatoly would be dead many times over.

He threw out an arm, knocking it over with a loud exclamation of –"SHHVAAA!"


	3. Chapter 3

Beep. Instantly, Vladimir was awake. It took only once for the alarm to go off, and he was awake. He blinked and rolled over, turning to face the desk on which the beeping alarm sat. From there, he looked at Anatoly... waiting for him to get the alarm.

Anatoly groaned, eyes squinting at the beeping alarm. He made a face and rolled over, jaw muscles tightening the longer it went off.

Vladimir huffed quietly and frowned at his brother's inaction. He pulled a pillow from beside himself and chucked it at Anatoly.

Anatoly puffed, the pillow hitting him in the head. He reached for it, grabbing it in one hand. Anatoly growled, climbing from the bed muttering about brothers and mornings.

Vladimir laughed then smiled—rather evilly—as he watched Anatoly move out of bed. Feeling like he'd won a small battle, Vlad then decided to sit up. "You've gotten old and slow, my brother." Vladimir's voice was amused.

Anatoly looked back with a frown, just after turning it off. "And you have not changed."

"No..." Vlad smirked and stood up. He crossed the room, patted Anatoly's shoulder, then moved to the closet. After a short search, he located a shirt and pulled it on. He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it back up.

Anatoly shook his head, calling a name out after his brother. He grabbed his shirt from where he left it, tugging it on.

With a snort, Vladimir returned with a different—yet equally offensive—name. He frowned momentarily, thinking about the "deal" they were going to make with Fisk.


	4. Chapter 4

They'd been in this prison for more than two years already, and Vlad was sick and tired of it. The guards had just taken Anatoly to do who-knew-what to him. So there Vlad was, glaring through the darkness, staring at the door while he waited for them to drag his brother back in.

He turned, glancing over at Alexi, who was looking less-than-well. "Alexi?"

The other man grunted and turned toward him. "Hmmm?"

"We'll get out-one way or another." He spoke his native language, words rolling easily off his tongue.

Alexi nodded. "You will." He coughed and sputtered, then went on. "Only way I'm getting out is if I stop breathing," he gasped out in reply.

Vlad didn't argue, he knew it was true. He only nodded.

"If I die-you do what you have to to escape... I'll be more useful dead."

Vlad cocked his head slightly. If Alexi meant what he THOUGHT he meant...

"Bones can be used as weapons-and... when I'm dead, I won't need them."

Vlad nodded. "And if I die, I offer you the same."

Alexi laughed. "You? This is not how you die."

Vladimir breathed out in amusement. "You're right. This is not how I die."

"So, even in death, I will help you then. Consider it a gift..." Alexi coughed out the words, just barely, then the room fell into silence as they waited for Anatoly to be brought back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

Walmart... Vladimir glanced around, looking at the swarms of people. It crowded, and people all went about their own business. They had no idea.. He looked over the flowers and breathed out an almost-laugh in amusement. He glanced over at Anatoly.

Anatoly returned the look, holding onto the balloon. He nodded, and started off in the direction of the cashier.

Vlad felt nothing as he stared at the bright yellow flowers. Semyon wouldn't care; it was more an excuse to get into the hospital to find out what he knew about the man in black.

Anatoly stepped in front of the credit card scanner, and held out an arm - and the balloon. The woman behind the desk started, trying to plaster a smile on her face instead of the strange expression stuck on it. She gave a soft laugh, and without taking her eyes off of them, took the balloon and swiped the bar code. She stared at Vladimir, not making a move to reach for the flowers.

Vlad frowned and-rather roughly-dropped the flowers on the desk before her. "They're for a... friend." He stated, trying for a smile-it wasn't convincing.

Anatoly watched as the woman awkwardly checked out the flowers, and handed the balloon back to him, before setting the flowers aside. "Um that's... that's..." she stuttered, before shaking her head, "Ten fifty." Anatoly set the money down, or something akin to slammed. He chewed on seemingly nothing, glancing sideways at his brother with an amused and almost annoyed look.

Vlad returned his brother's expression and picked up the flowers. He guessed it must have looked very out of place-what with all the tattoos, and... yellow flowers. But he didn't particularly care how it looked.

 **God bless - review if you can, and if you've made it this far, *Laughs***


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for reading to this point! Love you all! If you can review, since there haven't been any in a while, it would be amazing, spasibo. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not McDonalds, and not Vladimir or Anatoly.**

Suspicious eyes stared at the golden arches above the doorway. He huffed out a breath. Vladimir swore then and there that-if he wasn't starving-he would never eat here again. With a frown-one that seemed like a permanent fixture-he pulled the door open for Anatoly.

They'd just spent what American money they had on a cab-with ridiculously high prices. He decided that was going to change too. So, with only four dollars to their name, they'd ended up there... in front of some place called "McDonalds." It smelled like grease and inedible "food."

Anatoly's nose wrinkled and his expression was one of distaste. He moved through the door, fists clenched at his sides. A box beside the entrance held misshapen dolls - ones of green skin and huge eyes. "Shto...?" he mumbled, lip twitching in disgust.

Vlad did a double-take and looked back. His frowned deepened, and he wondered... is this what America had come to? A country once respected and feared by all was moving backward. He shook his head and moved forward, pushing open the next door.

As he and Anatoly entered, several people turned to look at them. A group of school kids eyed them warily, all moving to hide behind their teacher. Vlad decidedly fixed them in a glare-only for a moment, then refocused his attention.

Anatoly moved into the line, which was full of people that had less form than the dolls he'd seen moments before. Beeping, sizzling and rather terrible smells overwhelmed his senses.

Vladimir walked forward, standing behind the group of kids. He-who'd spent the last few years in a prison cell-had little reguard for personal space... and that fact may or may not have been the cause of the worried looks the woman at the head of the kids was giving him. He paid the woman little mind, and didn't move back either.

When they finally moved up to the front of the line, now only one-family away from whatever poor version of *food* that appeared to be being served, Anatoly looked away from a kid who shamelessly picked his nose.

"Mommy, are those mobsters?"

Vlad turned as he heard the voice of a little girl asking something rather shocking. Then again, it was New York.

The woman-who must be the girl's mother-pulled her daughter aside and sternly warned her not to point... or call people names. Vlad was almost tempted to laugh-but it wasn't all that funny.

Finally, they stood in front of the man behind the desk. He looked young, a teen, and rather bored as he punched the buttons on the machine. "Welcome to McDonalds. What can I get for you?"

Vlad thumped the crumbled dollar bills on the desk before the teen, and stated, "Something edible." His expression remained hard as the teen looked up in slight confusion.

"Well, most stuff here is edible, man."

Vlad looked doubtful. He said nothing, but waited silently.

"Okay, okay, something... anything?"

Vlad remained silent.

The teen punched a few buttons on the machine, and glanced around. "Mkay, order's gonna take a minute."

"How long is American minute?" Anatoly queried.

The teen, (His name tag said Anthony) shrugged - "Have a seat, and just wait to be called." He smiled pleasantly, although it looked a little on the tired side.

Vlad glanced back at Anatoly, then at the kid. "I think, maybe we stand." He'd had enough of sitting for quite some time. He moved, heading to a corner, where he began pacing absently.

Anatoly stood silently beside his brother. Time dragged on, yet soon someone was saying their order was done. A McDonalds bag was set on the counter, and Anthony was glancing around, waiting for them to come back to retrieve it.

Vlad blinked, looked around, shrugged, then headed forward. They'd paid for it, he figured it was theirs. He snatched it off the counter, as though he expected someone to try and take it back from him. Nothing happened-nothing with the exception of a few odd stares. He backed up, nearly bumped into Anatoly, and glanced around.

Anatoly tapped Vladimir on the arm and quickly moved towards the door, opening for the younger brother and waiting for him to follow. Several sets of eyes followed them out, but they were ignored.

Vlad walked after Anatoly, more than happy to leave the grease-soaked building. Once outside, he took a deep breath. In the city, outdoor air wasn't much cleaner. He turned, handed the bag to his brother, then stalked forward, heading in no particular direction... maybe to the nearest park.

'The streets were busy' would be an understatement, Anatoly mused, as he watched the pedestrians crossing legally and otherwise, and a mess of cars at intersections and side roads.

Vlad paid little mind to the traffic. He stepped out into te street, eyes forward, paying no attention to oncoming cars. He strolled along, causing nearly two wrecks as several driver's slammed on breaks to avoid hitting him. He narrowly missed a bike messenger, and finally made his way across the street.

Anatoly followed, his arms held out by his sides and he leaned forward slightly as he walked. Behind a building they headed towards, he could already see a park.

Vlad glanced back, ensuring that Anatoly was still close. He nodded, and kept walking. America was a messy place... at least, this part of it was. Then again, Vladimir decided the whole world was a bit of a mess.

Anatoly kept his eyes fixed on the green grass ahead, a frown seemingly glued to his face. The sun beat down on him and car horns sounded, he figured one day he would be accustomed to it, but for today, it was disorienting.

"Shto, brat moy?" Anatoly asked, seeing the tenseness coming off of Vladimir.

Vlad turned, blue eyes meeting his brothers. "It's our world now..." he stated distantly. "...Our city." They would rule. They were free, finally.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you MarbleMoose! This one's for you! ;)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **The book they reference is Talwan's Vengeance, by Christy and Sarah Newman.**

 **God bless!  
**

Vladimir closed the book with a thud. The blue paperback cover now crinkled from use. He arched one eyebrow in amusement as he looked at it. Weird. That was the only word he could use to describe the book. Creative, yes... but a little... odd. Then again, American's tended to be that way. Without warning, Vlad chucked the book across the room, to Anatoly, who sat on the couch in his office.

Anatoly's hand moved out to catch it before it hit his face. He stared blankly at the cover, than flipped through the pages. "What is this?" he asked, a slight frown on his face.

"Fiction... American pass-time." Vlad waved a hand in the air as he spoke, then rested his elbows on his desk and watched his brother flip through it. "Who would name a character, "Satub?" he asked, disdain, but slight curiosity and amusement hidden there.

"Person with dyslexia," Anatoly replied as his eyes settled on a page. Something about a man named Satub discussing torture with a... pirate. He hummed, and his frown deepened. "Gde vy nayti ehtuht?"

"Coffee shop," Vlad answered his brother's question. The coffee shop across the street not only sold coffee, but had book exchanges. Vlad had found it vaguely interesting, and decided to try it out. So, he'd picked up the only intersting book he could find, and traded if for a drivers manual. He shrugged at the memory.

"Person with dyslexia couldn't possible write whole book and only mistake a few names, Brat moy."

"Da." Anatoly sniffed, lips twitching sideways. He turned the page, then several more, reading something about 'Treelor' and brothers, Loslin and West.

Vlad spun his chair in slow, lazy circles, always coming back to face Anatoly. Vladimir-Russian mob boss-looked more like a bored five-year-old than anything else at the moment. "America may have freedom, but boredom comes in equal amount," he stated.

"Play card game," Anatoly offered distantly, still staring down at the pages. His younger brother continued turning his chair, which squeaked softly each time.

"Card games are pointless when played alone. I always win." Vladimir thought about that statement. "Actually, I always win anyway... but there is no challenge with only myself." He spoke English, only to practice the language. He didn't prefer it-in fact, he would be happier if all America learned his native tongue. But... as a courtesy to them, he spoke English.

Anatoly blinked, and his eyes rolled up to look at Vladimir. He nodded, than slammed the book closed, and set it on the couch beside his self. "Khorosho. What do you," he dipped his head sideways, "Want to do."

"American game. War." He picked up a card deck and thumped it down on the table. "Too easy, but I want to see who wins..." he smiled-a rare occasion-and looked at Anatoly, his very expression a challenge.

Anatoly rose from the couch and moved to his brother's desk. "What is point of game?"

"I get half deck, you get half. We flip cards. Highest wins, until there are none left. All chance."

"All right." Anatoly waited to get half the deck.

Vlad opened the cards and quickly and took half of them, giving the other half to Anatoly. "Don't look at them, don't shuffle."

Anatoly held onto the deck, staring his brother in the eyes for a long moment.

Vladimir's eyes narrowed, and he pulled the top card off of his half. He set it on the table with a look too intense for the moment. It was a ten. He pulled a face. It wasn't a bad start.

Anatoly did the same - his was lower. Vlad took the cards, and they started over again, and again - it was going to be a long day...


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks; Vladimir and Anatoly had been in America for two weeks. People here spent a lot of time complaining about traffic. Compared to Russia, the traffic of New York was easy and safe. Vladimir walked along the busy sidewalk, glancing at all the different stores. He'd decided, after McDonald's, he wasn't eating junk food for a long time. So, he strolled along in front of several so called "supermarkets". Vlad didn't see anything super about them.

Anatoly walked by his brother's side, occasionally glancing at the cars. A woman brushed past him, a grim look on her face, yet she didn't seem to so much as notice he was there. His expression was close to a sneer as someone else tried to push past him, and he noted that after he did so, they walked far, far around him.

Vladimir grunted as someone bumped Anatoly against him. He glared after the person, then walked on. Some street musician played a zippy, annoying, little tune about "wanting chew back" or something. Vlad paused before "Bobbyn's Supermarket." It looked as good as any other. He tapped Anatoly's shoulder and nodded toward the building. Moving toward it, he had to bowl over several hippies... one yelled some indiscernible nonsense. Not his concern, so he didn't stop.

As soon as they walked through the glass doors, scents of raw food hit. People moved through the building, pushing carts or carrying baskets.

Vlad noticed there was no lack of elderly people here. He walked around them and paused. As he stared at the huge building filled with food, all he could think was, Americans loved food. He couldn't recall seeing so many vegetables and raw meats in one place at one time. "Left" he muttered, indicating which way to start, then moving that way.

Anatoly followed just steps behind, eyebrows quirking as he eyed the many rows of vegetables, fruits, and meats.

Stopping before one aisle, Vladimir glared intensely at the tomatoes, lettuce, and onions. He began wondering-with no small amount of frustration-how exactly they were supposed buy anything, let alone get it...

Anatoly picked up a tomato, staring at it then glancing sideways at his sibling. "Schahs shto?"

Vlad shrugged. His lips set in a tight line and he glanced around. If they watched other people, they could figure it out. He noticed people sticking vegetables in bags... ones that came off rolly circles. "That," he stated, pointing out his observation to Anatoly.

Anatoly strolled towards one of the machines, staring at a teenage girl as she pulled one of the bags off. She looked at him, smiled, looked away, then did a subtle double-take. Tattoos and scars and holding a tomato.

Vlad bumped past his brother with a grim expression, determined to accomplish his goal-that of getting a bag for the lettuce he now carted around.

"Brate-" Anatoly pursed his lips, looking silently annoyed as Vladimir took the first bag. Anatoly followed in suit, and set the devil's fruit inside of it, blinking and giving a slight nod. "What can we afford?"

"Everything. I talked to our new... friend, Owlsly."

"And?" Anatoly looked around them as though someone was listening, before looking back at Vladimir.

"And remember the cab we 'borrowed'? We have a use for it... and more."

"Taxi company?" Anatoly asked.

"Da." Vladimir was glad he never had to explain an urging, because Anatoly always figured it out before that.

Anatoly once again nodded, before starting to walk again, the sounds of the market drowning out their conversation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ever watched Russian car crash compilations? Yipes...**

Snow fell from the grey sky like feathers to the white ground. The road was somewhere under all the white, and Vlad knew it. Driving in Russia was-well, it was an adventure. It was never safe, and there was nearly always a chance to be hit by someone or other.

Vladimir stared at the red light six cars up. He could get closer, if he just passed the other cars. It would be close, but he could do it-besides, he didn't have time to be patient. So, without further thought, he glanced sideways, pulling out of the line, and into the next lane. He started inching forward, trying not to slide on the ice.

Just after he'd gotten out of the line, he heard a screech. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and it didn't take him more than a second to know what was coming. So... when he saw the fishtailing car reeling toward the back of their own, all he did was sigh, and wait for impact.

Anatoly sat in the passenger seat, staring down at the book in his lap. His reading was disturbed when something sent him forward, seat-belt catching him before he smashed against the dashboard like a bug against a windshield. He grunted, snapping back in the chair and hitting his head against the seat. Something inside the car beeped at them, and Anatoly started grumbling out sounds and curses, looking back at the other car, "Nyet, suka!"

Vlad grumbled, curses streaming from his lips as he turned to look at the people in the next car. The hood of the vehicle was smashed up, and their windshield was cracked. Their own car, the back window had broken, and they'd been pushed against the nearest car... which in turn had dented in the door, and broken off one of the side mirrors.

Vladimir pulled forward, not waiting for anything else to go wrong... or, for more cars to come crashing into them... which was actually quite likely. He turned to Anatoly. By this time, the light was green, and it was a bit of a race to get out first. People drove forward, several people turned and swerved, barely avoiding people going the other direction. Reckless driving was just part of their days. "Idiots..." Vlad muttered, glancing at Anatoly for agreement.

Anatoly nodded, and more moodily than not slapped a hand down on his book, opening it back to his place.

Vlad almost laughed at his brother's angry action. Of course, he didn't laugh, as he too was irritated. He glanced out the opposite window, just long enough to see a pedestrian almost get flattened by a car sliding on ice. The pedestrian got back on his feet, and promptly kicked the vehicle, then went on.

Traffic continued flowing as usual... or as usual as it always seemed to in Russia.

 **God bless! If you have a request, please please, just tell me!**


	10. Chapter 10

Tired eyes opened halfway to see only darkness. Something wasn't right... something was missing. Vladimir couldn't explain the panic-he didn't understand it. He shifted, turning over and looking at the bright red letters of the clock. 2:45 AM. He grumbled several irritated words. The feeling of something wrong wouldn't go away...

He reached for the gun under his pillow, only to suddenly discover it wasn't there. That explained the feeling. His eyes widened and he muttered a curse, quickly shifting and looking under the blankets, though it clearly wasn't there. It had to be somewhere... unless someone took it? No... he'd have noticed... where was it?

Even as he searched for it, he reached for his phone, which was always on his desk. He thumped his hand down near it, feeling it at the tips of his fingers. He slapped down again, this time finding the cell, and picking it up. He opened it, and squinted at the bright screen, then hit redial. He waited-rather impatiently-for his call to be answered.

Anatoly's light sleep was interrupted by his phone ringing. His eyes popped open and his pupils adjusted to the room's light. He snatched the phone from the desk beside his bed, flipping it open and putting it to his ear.

Vlad knew Anatoly had picked up, even without him saying anything. "Can't find it..." he muttered in irritation. He looked under the pillow yet again, then on the desk. "Nyet..."

It was moments like these, that Anatoly wondered if his brother was even truly conscious. He propped himself up on his elbow, breathing out a tired breath - a nearly pained sound - and clenched his eyes shut. "Check under mattress."

Vlad heard his brother's tired command and paused. He blinked and leaned forward, pracitcally toppling out of bed. He grunted out a curse as he bumped against the desk. Quickly, Vladimir put the phone on the desk, then pulled up the mattress with one hand and patted under it with the other. His hand found cold steel.

Vladimir pulled the 9mm handgun from under the mattress then picked the phone up again. "Da... found it. Spacibo..." He climbed back into the bed, and jammed the gun back into its place.

Anatoly sniffed, and replied with "Da." He let himself fall back down onto the bed, one hand resting on his forehead. "Anything else?"

Vlad blinked tiredly and considered this. "Nyet, goodnight."

"Mm... Goodnight."

 **Thank you all for the favorites, follows, and reviews! Each and every one of them is appreciated - very much so. If you have suggestions, prompts, please tell me. God bless!**


	11. Chapter 11

**This one is more strage-then-not...**

Anatoly stalked towards the door, hands clenched by his sides. He opened it and stepped into the office, the noises of taxi's being repainted and repaired sounding behind him as he did so. "брат," Anatoly said as soon as he saw Vladimir. He closed the door and moved towards the desk, grim determination on his face.

Vlad glanced up, down, then back up again. He nodded to Anatoly, noting the expression on his brother's face. "Shto?"

Anatoly sighed, jaw muscles tensing as he clenched his teeth. He moved a alcohol glass from it's place on his book. Picking up the worn thing, he grabbed a pen, and moved to the other side of the room, placing his hands on his knees as he lowered himself onto the couch.

Vladimir's gaze followed his brother as Anatoly picked up the faded old journal and moved away with it. Vlad's attention returned to the document before him, something about the transfer of several new cars from Kitchen Cab. He glanced over them, then back toward Anatoly.

From time to time, Vladimir had wondered what exactly his brother wrote in the book. As Anatoly always left it on his desk, he'd had every chance to find out, but never did. The only thing he had to do with it, was the occasional use of it as a cup holder, nothing more. He'd never read a single page of it... simply because it wasn't his business, and yes... even he had some small sense of personal space-even if that meant simply not reading someone else's journal.

Anatoly flipped the pages and crossed his legs, setting the book on his knees. "Has Owlsley set up the new account?" he asked distantly, even as he started writing.

"Da... yesterday," Vlad replied. He eyed his brother and asked, "Did Piotr find any new recruits?" They talked business while Anatoly wrote, and Vlad wondered if it ever affected what exactly his brother wrote... did it confuse him? Did he accidently write in wrong words? The thought was amusing.

Anatoly's response was a nod. "They're already... Nyet! глупый!" Anatoly's exclamation was one of pure frustration as he madly scratched out his last sentence.

Vladimir smirked, just slightly. He kept back his amused laughter. "Something wrong, брат?"

"Deystvitel'no?!" Anatoly re-wrote the same sentence, again in Cryllic. He growled and muttered under his breath.

Vladimir smiled, only for a second. "Eezveeneete."

Anatoly finally finished the sentence he didn't know how many times he had re-written. He breathed out an annoyed breath.


	12. Chapter 12

Anatoly walked on the cold street, snow flakes falling on his hair. He blew out a breath and shook his head. It was a dark day, but considering, he didn't find it as bad as it could have been, or had been in the past.

The thirteen-year-old could finally, for a moment, forget about their parents, and their deaths.

Tagging along beside Anatoly, his four-year-old brother Vladimir padded along, worn shoes shuffling through the icy slush of the street. Blue eyes stared contemplatively around. "Why don't we have a house anymore?" Vlad asked rather suddenly, peering up at Anatoly and flinching as a snowflake landed on his nose. He huffed it off, and waited for an answer.

"We're going to again, one day." Anatoly ruffled his brother's hair with one hand, even as his eyes stayed glued to the scene in front of them. Anatoly got behind the child, putting hands on his shoulders. It was easy to watch out for him if he could see him.

Vlad's worn shoes scuffed the pavement as he walked. "It's gonna be big... isn' it?" he asked. He tilted his head back and up so he could see Anatoly.

"A palace. We'll be princes."

Vladimir grinned. "We'll do it... together, won't we?" He freed himself from his brother's grip on his shoulders and skipped forward, moving to a light pole. He latched onto it with one hand and spun around it, turning to look at his brother.

"Da." Anatoly watched his little brother - his grinning made a smile break out on Anatoly's own face.

"We'll always be t'gether... and... and someday, I'll watch out for you, like you do for me," Vladimir's statement was a proud one as the four-year-old puffed out his chest... rather unimpressively.

Anatoly hummed a response and nodded. "Right now, just let me take care of things. You're hungry?"

"Um..." Vladimir looked around. "Yes." He ran back to his brother's side, bumped into him with an "Oommmph" and looked up. "We're getting food?"

"Yes." And they moved again, the two figures surrounded by towering castle-like buildings.


	13. Chapter 13

His heart thrummed in his ears and the artificial from the naked bulb overhead sent agony rippling through his skull. He was being dragged, arms holding all of his weight as the guards hauled him by the extremities.

Blood covered his torso, and he couldn't help but wonder how long he could keep doing this. Air barely wheezed in and out of his swollen and bruised throat - he could have grown to hate the pitiful squeaking.

In the midst of his haze-filled musing, he never saw the floor coming, only realized it was so close when his nose slammed into it with his entire weight.

The sound jarred Vladimir from his not-so-peaceful rest. Blue eyes opened and he blinked through the darkness at his brother's still form. He pushed himself away from the wall, moving skillfully through the cell he had so well memorized until he was beside his brother. He rolled him over carefully, hands checking for broken bones or other injuries.

"Anatoly-" he mumbled his brother's name, trying to see if he could get his attention, as it seemed to be wandering. Vlad was concerned-though he would never say it-about his brother's health... every day, he seemed worse... Vlad frowned thinking that the cause of his brother's issues might be the fact that the guards always managed to drop him on his face. With a sigh, Vladimir figured he might as well try to start catching him.

Anatoly cold taste the tang of blood as it gushed from his nose and to his lips. He coughed, eyes clenching shut to *complete* the expression of misery. A wheezing gasping came from his open mouth, and he reached out a hand, which managed to find Vladimir's arm. He weakly slapped his hand against the arm, trying to express the fact he needed to breath, yet couldn't roll over.

Vlad completed the half-accomplished task of rolling Anatoly over. Since he was at it, he pulled him up, just enough that Anatoly was leaning against him. "Eezveeneete, Brat." He whispered his apology, knowing that moving was probably painful-but he wasn't just going to leave him on the floor.

Anatoly coughed out the happenings of the guards unceremonious drop. The blood dripped onto the floor, and he tried to take in a breath, large enough to fill his lungs. He slumped back against his little brother, unfocused eyes rolling up to stare at the roof as his open jaw moved back and forth.

"You look like death warmed over." It was Vlad's way of saying he was concerned-not touchy-feely... just very... "him." One hand moved to the side of his brother's face, turning it so he could see the damage. From what he could tell, his face wasn't broken... He huffed at the thought. Vladimir's other hand moved over Anatoly's neck. It felt raw and hotter than it should... bruised probably, not that he could actually see.

Anatoly huffed out air, then tried to draw as much back in. "Vladimir?" he asked, as if just realizing.

"Da..." Vlad responded calmly, shifting and pulling them both back to lean against the wall. He looked into shining eyes, knowing how it was... confusing, frustrating. They would live-that, he promised himself.

"Brat moy." The relief was in Anatoly's words, though distantly. He closed his eyes, breathing past the swelling that threatened to cut off him from his precious air supply.

Vladimir nodded, patting his brother's chest. He was frustrated and angry. He could see his brother's pain-so close he could almost feel it himself. The only thing he couldn't do, was make it go away. He couldn't do anything for Anatoly in that moment-nothing but be there. So there he was, right where he always was, beside Anatoly.

Anatoly tried to give some response. He turned his head, his words but a pained breath against his brother's neck. Crimson still ran from his nose, and he promised himself that if he died - it was not going to be from broken-nose blood loss.

Vlad seemed to read Anatoly's thoughts. He propped his older sibling against the wall and quickly crossed the small room. He snagged an old blanket-Oleg's-from it's place. He was "out" at the moment, and didn't need it. Vladimir moved back to Anatoly's side and sat down.

With relative ease, Vladimir tore the corner from the blanket and wiped at the blood on Anatoly's face. He realized it wasn't exactly a "clean" enviorment, but it was the one they had. He pulled up one of his brother's hands and jammed the cloth into it. "Try to stop the bleeding," he ordered, pulling the blanket-now missing an edge-over Anatoly.

Anatoly swallowed, the slick substance running down his throat - tickling, sticking. He pressed the cloth to his nose, new throbbing pain blossoming from the action. His back arched against the wall as he tried to straighten up further yet failed. "Spas'a..."

"Pazhalooysta," Vladimir replied and helped Anatoly move into the "more preferable" situation against the wall. Here, there was no "comfort" there was only "better than awful." So, they settled for what they had, and did the best they could with it.

 **If you can review this one, it would be more than appreciated - as it's tied to something close to my life.**

 **God bless you, thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

Street signs flew by and cars drove evenly along in a steady stream-all rather even and orderly... with the exception of the taxi swerving in and out and around all the other cars, nearly running over two pedestrians, and almost colliding with a bycicle-that one, not so much. Of course, Vlad couldn't be bothered by it, as he was driving it.

He slowed at a red light and stopped, turning to look at Anatoly, who sat rather unconcernedly in the passenger side.

Anatoly glanced in the backseat. Bottles of alcohol took up the floor and the seat. He looked back out the front windshield.

"You think it's enough?" Vlad asked, not entirely sure the amount would do.

"For them? Nyet." Anatoly sniffed, looking at his brother.

Anatoly gripped Vladimir's wrist. "Dyshat, Vladimir."

Vlad paused, eyes meeting his brother's. Vladimir sighed and moved back. "Da..." he muttered. He knew Anatoly was right, and shooting at people wasn't going to solve traffic problems. So, they pulled away from the red light without incident, heading toward the garage. Anatoly leaned back, picking up one of the bottles. He hummed and made a face, reading. He frowned, and shook his head, moving his eyes back to the road.

"Shto?" Vlad noted the expression on Anatoly's face. It had been fairly obvious.

"Ingredients, calories, fats -" Anatoly's voice growled as it lowered somewhere between mocking and amused carelessness.

Vlad frowned slightly. "Shto?" Calories and fats... had never really-ever-been an issue for them. He found it rather pointless to put ingredients on a bottle of Vodka, really.

Anatoly tapped his sibling's arm when the Veles Taxi came into view.

Vlad slowed, turning into the underground parking garage. As always, people were working, doing their various jobs. Vladimir had decided that to be respected was better than to be loved. To be feared was better than to be cared for. That rule went for everyone-with the exception of his brother. But... that didn't mean that they couldn't all get along...

Anatoly put the vodka back and opened the car door, finding a sideways position to get out of the car from.

Once the car was off, Vlad pushed open his door, and-by way of car horn-called a rather sudden "meeting."

The work stopped, the sound seemed to slow until there was none but the grunting of men getting from under cars and setting things down.

Vlad get out of the car and opened the back door, leaning against the car as he waited for the "minions." He turned, looking toward Anatoly with a slight smirk.

Piotr's eyes bulged when he saw the backseat - and his intake of air turned into an accidental slurping sound.

Sergei grunted-the sound coming out a bit like a surprised growl. Nobody really moved for a few seconds, all seeming to wait for some kind of cue.

Anatoly looked at Vladimir, before snatching one from the back, and putting it into Piotr's hands as he passed the man on his way to the offices.

With finality, Vladimir pulled the back door open all the way, and waved a hand toward the "minions." "Help yourselves." He stated, heading after Anatoly.

And it all began. The taxi was "attacked" by mobs of Russians.


	15. Chapter 15

**Guest: Merci beaucoup! God bless you.**

 **Prompt: Clothes shopping.**

 **Stargazing Strangers, I hope you like it! And about your head cannon - I think I did see a box of cigarettes on Vladimir's desk when Wesley came in... I mean, I can't be sure, but hey - cannon on, mi amiga! And I think I'll see about fitting it into a oneshot!**

The noise in the mall was laughter - and conversation. People who had set up in the middle of the isles and corridors tried to catch people's attention and sell products to them. The air smelled of popcorn and perfumes. As the shoppers moseyed through various stores, and then right back out, more would come into the same shops.

Anatoly frowned at a man that madly made an attempt to sell him a hair curler - under what circumstance was he going to use one? The Russian kept walking, fists getting tighter every second he was followed by the salesman - until the veins started to protrude. He'd lost his brother in the madness of the shopping center, and that had been perhaps twenty minutes ago... If he didn't find him, and if that man didn't stop chasing him...

Vladimir was wandering aimlessly through the large building. Large didn't even begin to cover it-the place seemed to be the size of a small city... one in which he'd lost track of his brother. Vlad stalked along, frown on his face as someone bumped into him. He spun around, considering going after them-but what was the point?

So, on he went. People went on their way carrying bags, food and anything else they could cart around with them. Vladimir waved off an annoying salesman... on trying to sell watches. If he needed one, he'd have asked-and he said as much... though perhaps not so kindly.

Finally, sick of the whole "lost in mall" situation, Vlad stopped in the middle of a stream of people-causing a rather imediate "people crash" as New-Yorkers bumped into each other and swerved to avoid crashing into the tattooed Russian. He took a backward step and was about to turn when he bumped into someone...

With an annoyed glare, he started turning, coming face to face with Anatoly-his glare disappeared, becoming an expression of controlled calm.

"Preevyet, брат." Anatoly looked around himself and sidestepped to get beside his sibling. As the crowd started to lessen, he waited for Vladimir to pick a direction in which he wanted to go.

Vladimir nodded and waved a hand carelessly around. "Ya nee paneemayoo shopping malls." Half the sentence was spoken in his language, the other half, English-frustration making English slip to the back of his mind.

"Da." Anatoly's hands rested on his hips as his eyes scanned the excited couples and teenagers, and the occasional family.

Vladimir picked a direction, and started walking that way. He wasn't entirely sure why'd they'd come here in the first place... well, actually, he was-but that was beside the point. Vlad moved out of the path of a herd of teens, stepping into a clothes store-which was actually the reason they'd come there in the first place.

The store smelled of perfume and cologne-too much of it. Vlad made a face and turned to Anatoly. "Nyet..." He drew out the word, and was about to leave, but changed his mind. The sooner they got it over with, the sooner they could leave the over-crowded human zoo.

Anatoly headed for the jackets and coats in the men section. Beside them, on the wall, was a picture of a beach and several manikins in front of it. Anatoly shook his head at the modeling faceless figures and went to looking through the clothes.

Vladimir followed, trailing along beside Anatoly with a distant and rather displeased expression; like that of a bored child waiting for an opportunity to cause trouble. He paused to look at an image of some person supposedly modling a man's clothing-looked more like a woman's clothes to him... He huffed out an indignant sigh and mumbled under his breath, then started off after Anatoly again.

"This is how they dress, maybe we should go to Moscow," he mumbled, looking at a (hideous) purple and green stripe shirt. "Nyet..." he shook his head.

Anatoly hummed in response. He moved through the racks, until reaching the leather jackets. He looked through the styles and sizes, and pulled one off, staring at it blankly for several moments. He shrugged off his own jacket, ignoring several looks he got brought on by the tattoos on his arms.

A teen at the edge of the aisle stared at Anatoly. The kid's eyes bugged out, and likely would've popped if they'd gotten wider. "Dude, wha'do all those mean?" the teen asked.

Anatoly glanced over, and despite his eyebrows already being pushed down into a frown, they seemed to do so even more, the ends getting higher. "Cмелый," Anatoly mused. "Means, I'll make deal - tell you when you get belt."

Vladimir smirked. After all, his brother was right. The teen seemed to be unable to afford clothes that fit... or, at least, he'd not bothered to get a belt. Everything that could be sticking out... was.

The teen glared, spat a curse, and waddled (yes, litterally) away from them.

A girl off to the side laughed. "Brutally honest."

Anatoly pulled on the other jacket finally, and straightened out the collar. He hummed, lips tilting downward momentarily. He switched out jackets again, then looked back at Vladimir, mostly to see what his brother was now doing.

Vladimir was busy-doing nothing. Mostly poking at headless "models", wondering where he could get these-they would make wonderful targets for target practice.

"Vladimir," Anatoly called to get his attention.

Vlad did a sort of double take. "Hmm?"

Anatoly shook his head, lips turning into a line and jaw muscles tightening. He briefly raised the leather jacket, "Tell me when you're ready."

Vladimir walked toward Anatoly and stopped. "I think... maybe we leave."

Anatoly sniffed and glanced at several onlookers. "Da."


	16. Chapter 16

**MiraJe: Thank you, and thank you again! Hehe. :D**

 **James: Aaoooww yes, cried internally indeed! But thank you so, so much - your review is gold!**

 **Guest: *Aaoooh!* Yes! Actually, that prompt deserves a fic of its own, and that is what it has gotten... I'll be posting it later, not sure what the name will be - but please look out for it! I'll try and post it after this, and then update once a day or so, as I wrote most of it last night after reading what you said... God bless you, too!**

 **I don't know how you all found the story at once - but that was providence, your reviews couldn't have had a better time! Very, very thankful - makes me feel so happy!**

 **Stargazing Strangers: This is another one for you! Hope you enjoy!**

 **Prompt: Old habits.**

 **Enjoy!**

Vladimir glanced around-it wasn't as though he needed to hide... not really. Still, it felt like he probably shouldn't broadcast his bad habit. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and breathed out smoke. It trailed along in the early morning air like the grey clouds over the city.

Yes, he'd told Anatoly he'd stop... and most of the time-it was true. But... some days just started off bad, and the smoke he pulled into his lungs seemed to take his stress. He knew what it did-he knew it was unhealthy... His life tended to be a bit on the unhealthy side as it was, so what was a little smoke, if it calmed rigid nerves?

His fingers twitched around the cigarette, and he brought it to his lips again. Vladimir took a deep breath, held it a moment, then exhaled slowly...

"Vladimir?" Anatoly's voice broke the quiet. He stared, eyebrows quirked.

Vlad did a double take and coughed quietly. He shrugged uncomfortably as he dropped the cigarette and extiguished it with the heel of his boot. "6paT?"

Anatoly's lips pursed and his jaw muscles twitched, but he said nothing, only rested his hands on his hips and moved onto what he had been about to tell Vladimir before hand. "Wesley's employer wants to meet tonight."

Vladimir nodded. "Does he?" The last few times they were supposed to meet Fisk, he'd stood them up, or sent his lap dog. "Will he be there?"

"Da. And Owlsley, Nobu, and Madam Gao." Anatoly moved to stand by Vladimir's side, briefly looking down at what was left of the cigarette. "I thought you quit."

"Da..." Vladimir glanced down a moment. "I did-mostly." He smirked-if just slightly. He knew he'd promised. To anyone else, it would've meant nothing, but to Anatoly...? Vladimir sighed. "Eezveeneete, 6paT." He apologized quietly and looked down, blinking rapidly. An apology was actually rather rare-Anatoly was the only person who ever heard him actually say "I'm sorry," but when he said it, he meant it.

"Nyezashta." Anatoly nodded, eyes briefly looking down before back up once more.

Vladimir nodded and turned, heading toward the garage beside Anatoly. The friendship he had with his brother was the only kind of relationship Vladimir had... there was no one else he trusted; it was only Anatoly-it always had been. That said, Vladimir did nothing to endanger that trust.

 **If you can, please check out the new story on my page - Vladimir and Anatoly AU! Written for Guest...!**


	17. Chapter 17

As per request: Russian to English words: (Please don't believe this will make you fluent in Russian. It probably won't... probably )

NOTE! Sorry, this isn't a story, just a dictionary of sorts for you to reference back to...

Zdrastvooyte = Hello

Preevyet = Hi

Spaseeba = Thank you

Pazhalooysta = You're welcome

Bal'shoye spaseeba = Thank you very much.

Neeploha = Not so bad

Meenya zavoot... = My name is...

Kak vas zavoot? = What's your name?

Eezveeneete = Sorry

Neechevo, neechevo, pazhaloosta = That's all right

(Or alternate)

Nyezashta = That's all right

Neechevo srashnava = No harm

Prasteete = Excuse me

Ooveedeemsya = See you

Da sveedaneeya = Good-bye!

Vi gavareetye pa angleeskee? = Do you speak English?

Ya nee paneemayoo = I don't understand

Ya paneemayoo = I understand


	18. Chapter 18

"I'll domesticate you boys yet..." ~ Leeland Owlsley.

Vladimir heard someone at the door of the garage call in that someone was coming. He looked up, doing a double-take as he recognized Leland Owlsley. He frowned and tapped Anatoly's shoulder to catch his attention.

Leland strolled in, giving disapproving looks at the Russians around him. One of them-Piotr-bumped into him. He grunted and frowned. Leland caught sight of the two brothers and called over, "Don't you boys teach anything about personal space over in Russia?"

Anatoly moved towards him, a frown on his face. His jaw muscle twitched as he stopped in front of Leeland, staring at the accountant.

Leland shifted, stepping back a few feet and turning his attention to Vlad. "See?" He waved both arms at Anatoly. "Vladimir..." Leland coughed out, and sidestepped awkwardly. "Can I have a few feet."

"Depends-can you move back?"

Leland rolled his eyes and took two steps back. "Better? Have enough room now?"

Anatoly's lips twitched into a near-smile. "Why are you here?"

Leland puffed out a sigh. "Why do you think? I'm here to go over the numbers... I'm the money man, remember? I move all the..."

Vladimir stepped forward threateningly, scowling at the accountant, who seemed to be there with the sole purpose of annoying them.

"Okay, all right! I just wanted to tell you your margins have gone up two percent over the last month. That's good..." he started, and pulled a file from his coat. He flipped it open, leafed through it, and handed it to Vlad.

Vladimir took the file, glanced briefly at it, and passed it on to his brother.

Anatoly looked through it quickly before closing it once more. He passed it back to Leeland, then clasped his hands - nodding. "We are grateful."

Vlad shot his brother a look that seemed to ask "Are we?" But he said nothing.

Leland huffed, puffed, and sighed. "Yeah, well... it's my job. Oomph!" he grunted as he was plowed over by another man carrying a car tire. "Oh! That's it! Another of my jobs seems to be, I have to domesticate you Russians!"

Anatoly shifted on his feet, subtly looking sideways at his sibling. He spoke to Leeland even though his eyes didn't move from Vlad's face for some time, "Yes... domesticate." Breathe, "Did you domesticate Rystler?"

"Who...?" Leland blinked. The elderly man's expression seemed to squish. It was somewhere between a smile, and a worried grimace. "I... no!"

Anatoly hummed - even the small noise sounded sarcastic.

Vladimir's fingers twitched-he wasn't good at doing nothing. Staying in one place always ended in boredom, and his energy had to escape somehow.

"Da." Anatoly cleared his throat. "We need a copy of the numbers."

Leeland's head rotated right, then left. He grumbled, but even as he did so, he pulled a paper from his coat pocket. "I planned for that too." Anatoly stepped forward to take it - once more invading Leeland's personal space.

"EEssh! Don't do that! I will domesticate you boys yet!" Leland hopped back, frowning, and jamming the note into Anatoly's hand.

Vladimir stood beside his brother and leaned closer, in a voice too quiet for Leland to hear, he whispered, "Nyet..."

Anatoly's response was an eyebrow quirking and his lips pursing, eyes still watching Leeland even as he whispered a reply, too quiet to hear by any other than his brother.

Vladimir smirked and nodded, then returned his attention to Leland, who looked more than a little worried.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Sorry, I haven't been able to post here as much as I would like to! Got caught up with Breathing Providence and the oneshots... Who knew writing Piotr could be so interesting? Anyways... This one is to see if I can get back into the flow of things, and I know I have a prompt floating around in the reviews, but muse refused to come for that one. I'm sorry!**

 **God bless!**

The theater smelled of buttered popcorn and grease, and the murmurs of the crowds filled Anatoly's ears. He wasn't sure what they were doing here, or where here was, exactly. He knew that the nausea gripping at him was caused by the smells. Yes, it was better than the prison. Compared, nothing smelled better. But still it pushed bile into his mouth, leaving the bitter taste lingering.

Vladimir walked along beside Anatoly. His gaze shifted, he had to see everything... he had to watch everyone. He didn't trust them... or their over-buttered food. Somehow, he and his brother wound up in the theater... with movie tickets to something called "Transformers." So far though, the two Russians had spent five minutes wander the huge halls pointlessly.

Anatoly quirked an eyebrow as he looked around them. Quickly, his hand shot out, and landed on someone's arm. It got their, her, attention. The girl flinched, turning to them and looking like a deer in the headlights.

Anatoly pulled his hand away, lips turning up in what was supposed to be a disarming smile - but turned into a grim smirk. "Transformers?"

The girl stared for a moment, before shaking herself out of her pause. She smiled kindly, "That way. It's a good movie; enjoy it!"

Vladimir glared after her, not really meaning to, it was just-him. He glared. He turned in the direction the girl pointed and looked at his brother, who didn't really seem that thrilled to be there either. "Good movie, she says... enjoy?" Vlad huffed a sigh. "If we even understand." English was hard enough as it was, but with the accents of these people, he was starting to think he might need subtitles on living beings.

Anatoly hummed in response, resting his hands on his hips and pushing his jacket out of the way in the process. He waited for a moment, eyes peering through the many, many people. Soon he was walking again, fists clenched by his sides and head swerving both directions, eyes watching the movements of others.

Vlad followed, trailing along absentmindedly behind his sibling. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling like he was being followed. He was-there was a heard of teenagers, all meandering after them, headed in the same direction.

Anatoly moved inside the dark room, trying to pick his way between the fallen popcorn pieces and people attempting to locate a seat.

Anatoly chose two seats in the very back, and was one his way towards them when another man started to move towards them. The Russian narrowed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he stared - glared - down the other theater goer.

Just then, said man seemed to notice him. There was a brief moment of pause, before the man plunked down in a different seat.

Content with the won seating-arrangement-war, Anatoly lowered himself into the chair.

Vladimir noticed the exchange and smirked. As he sat down, Vlad tapped his brother's shoulder in silent congratulations for winning the "battle" as it were. He glanced up at the large screen. It was blaring something about, "C. N." Or... Cartoon Network, whatever that meant.

Anatoly leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position. It was harder than it sounded... Advertisements came across the screen, and he struggled to understand the words.

A man wearing a skirt appeared on the screen, hollering and shouting. He crashed into a tree, screaming for Ursula, and at that point, Vlad wondered if maybe America was not the wisest choice. The word's "George of the Jungle" popped up, and the Russian frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. He wondered if the commercials would be longer than the movie itself.

Anatoly had witnessed some strange and stupid things in Russia; but watching the commercials, he was left unable to think of any words to describe exactly what he was seeing. Either it was funny, or so idiotic he was going to walk right back out the door. He was leaning towards the latter.

The next commercial outdid the previous. It was an ad for something called "The Simpsons Movie." It was comprised of yellow people, all of whom seemed intent on being stupid. Vladimir glared at the screen, leaned back, then forward, then shifted, then frowned again, then looked at Anatoly. "This is entertainment?" he asked in surprise.

Anatoly just shook his head and went back to watching. Music played and he guessed what was the actual movie began.


	20. Chapter 20

**Sol: All right - thank you for pointing it out. *Sheepish smile.* Glad you like the childhood chapters. God bless!**

The sky was dark and white flakes fell softly to the snow-dusted ground. Blue eyes scanned the trees that towered above him, casting shadows that made the already-dark place even darker... more forbidding. Still, five-year-old Vladimir didn't think about that. He'd come out here for a reason, and he was quite intent on it, not noticing the darkness.

Bundled in his clothes, several jackets, and a pair of snow-boots two sizes too big, he'd left their families small house and made his way into the forest behind it. Because when there was snow... there would be snowmen. He'd walked for some time before he'd discovered a place he deemed suitable for the snowmen, and he'd stopped there. With little more than occasional moonlight, he had started building the-rather small-snowmen, unaware of the dangers of the forest.

**DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL***

Fourteen-year-old Anatoly held a Kalashnikov AK-74 in his gloved hands, his father's rifle as it were - his nose stung and his eyes threatened to freeze over, as he refused to blink, afraid to miss even the slightest of movements.

His heart pounded against his ribcage, as though trying to escape. His five-year-old brother had gone MIA, or missing-in-the-afternoon , and that had been over an hour ago. He'd been searching, but now he ran purely on adrenaline and determination as it flushed through his veins.

Short brown hair was ruffled by the night breeze, and he felt some sense of growing dread.

**DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL***

Vladimir (being only five) only then decided that it was rather cold outside, and that he probably should go home. Home was... it was... He looked around. In the dark, all the trees looked the same. Everything looked the same. He swallowed noisily and took a hesitant step forward. He didn't know where he was supposed to go.

He turned around and glanced back. Footprints. He moved forward, following his footprints. Maybe they could take him back home. Still, he was destined to run out of luck on that front, as the snow had been falling for some time, anad the farther he moved, the dimmer the prints became. Still, Vladimir decided to follow them as far as he could, and hope that maybe, he could get home from wherever they broke off.

***DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL***

A noise made the teen bring the butt of the rifle against his inside of his shoulder and he aimed into the darkness, one numb finger posed to drop to the trigger. Anatoly breathed out a stream of white air, and it rose into the night sky with the others.

**DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL***

Vladimir trudged through the snow, head down, not noticing anything ahead of him until he tripped over a snow-covered tree root. It send him tumbling into the snow with a quiet squeak. He pushed himself up again, dusting off the snow and looking up... Just then, he saw the silhouette ahead of him. He froze. It was a person-but they had a gun. Not shocking of course... but he wondered who it was. Whoever it was, they were aiming at him.

"Zdravstvuyte?" (Hello?)

He hoped that wasn't a mistake, but at this point, he was a little too cold to be afraid of being shot at.

"Vladimir," Anatoly breathed out the name. Relief became the expression he wore. He lowered the weapon, moving forward in jerky and quick movements. He crouched before the child, with one hand he gripped the magazine, and the other clamped onto Vladimir's shoulder.

"Anatoly!" The child exclaimed, rather obviously. Small arms wrapped around his brother's neck. "Kholodno." (It's cold.)

Anatoly wrapped his free arm around Vladimir's small back. "My dolzhny idti," (We have to go.)

Vladimir nodded and looked at the rifle his brother was carrying. One day, he'd be able to carry that thing, but for now, he knew it probably weighed as much as he did... or, well, maybe not, but a five year old couldn't be sure. He started moving forward, one hand gripping his brother's sleeve. "Kakoy put' yavlyayetsya rodinoy?" (Which way is home?)

Anatoly stood and glanced down, eyebrows furrowing even as his lips briefly twitched up. He nodded in the direction from which he had come.

"Mhm..." Vladimir started heading that way, clinging to Anatoly's side to make sure he didn't get lost again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Crack!Fic! Warning: Strangeness ensues... Guest stars: Piotr, Sergei and Semyon.**

The buzz faded, then halted all together. Sergei froze. Wonderful... he had no idea where it was. He listened, but it didn't start up again. He switched off the light, and the buzz started again, so, in an instant, he clicked the light on again. "Tam on yest'!" (There he is) Sergei growled out the exclamation, and lunged forward, fly-swatter wapping toward the large horse-fly that had managed to get into Vladimir's office.

Piotr spun around, wide eyes searching for the tiny bug. In his hands he held a bucket of water, and with a grunt and a heave, he tossed the water towards the flying insect - in the same instant as Sergei leapt forward.

"AAWAWGHGHHH!" The loud shout burst from Sergei as water splooshed all over him. He growled and waved a hand at Piotr. "Ostorozhno!" (Careful)

Semyon burst into the room at that moment. (Sergei had sent him to get something else with which to go after the insect.) "Pytat'sya eto." (Try this) he stated, tossing a bottle of cologne toward Piotr. With that, Semyon took a look at Sergei and cocked his head. Sergei responded with a growl and a wave of his hand.

"Eezveeneete!" (Sorry!) Piotr set down the now-empty bucket after catching the cologne, and rolled up his sleeves, eyes suspiciously eying the roof.

Semyon kept one of the bottles for himself. First, he attempted to get the bug by tossing the bottle up. It thumped the roof, and missed, falling back down into Semyon's waiting hand.

Piotr held the bottle, and as a little black blur raced towards his face, he sent a long spray towards it. It barely slowed it down. It hit his face and he madly waved his arms, "Podozhdite! Nyet!" (Wait! No!)

Semyon laughed, but his laughter was cut short as a wave of strong cologne hit him in the face. He coughed, sputtered, and spat.

Sergei leapt into action, chasing after the fly and smacking at it. He missed, and it buzzed off, heading toward the desk. Sergei chased after the blur, with the other men not too far behind.

Piotr stopped them both by holding up his hand. They halted, and he listened for that familiar sound... There it was. He followed it, and soon his gaze was locked on the target. The demonic creature lazily flew before Semyon.

Piotr slowly held up the can in his hand, and pressed his finger down, dousing Semyon in the scent.

"AAAGHpmmmm! NYET! Piotr!" Semyon held his hands in front of his face and coughed, gagging on cologne. He hated that smell now, and decided he was going to throw it away as soon as he got the chance.

WAP! The flyswatter came down on the table as Sergei took another swat at the fly. He hoped they could catch it before Vladimir got back... he hated flies, and when he wasn't happy, no one was.

"Sergei!" Piotr suddenly exclaimed, pointing at where the fly had once again landed - this time on the door.

Sergei meandered toward it, grumbling quietly all the way. He took aim, and the flyswatter was swinging toward the door-when it opened.

"AAmm HHMMGG mhhf!" Sergei exclaimed, quickly changing course of the flyswatter, and tossing it over his shoulder (Accidently hitting Seymon with it) "Vladimir!"

Vladimir frowned and looked around Sergei at the two other men. "Shto ty zdes' delayesh'?" (What are you doing here?)

Anatoly followed in after Vladimir. The man briefly paused, a look of confusion being his expression. It morphed into disgust as his eyes settled onto the fly, following its every movements.

Sergei saw the expression, and he coughed, looking down at the floor. "My ot nego izbavit'sya." (We'll get rid of it)

Vlad nodded and turned, leaving the room without further questions. He hated flies... or, more specifically, the annoying buzz that followed them.

Anatoly nodded slowly, and backed up before turning around and once more following Vladimir - right back out of the office.

With a held-back cry of frustration, Piotr slammed his hand against the table - right where the fly had been only seconds prier to him doing so.

The bug landed on the wall, and with a last ditch attempt, Sergei jumped at it, smashing his fist on the wall. His fist, the wall, and the insect shared the same space for a moment... then he peeled back his hand, revealing the flattened bug... and a goo smear. "otvratitel'no..." (Disgusting...) Sergei wiped off his hand, and turned to the others. He nodded to the door and lead the "charge".

 **Well: This was based of of real life! BASED OFF OF A TRUE STORY, hahaha.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Based off of ANOTHER real life event. All I can say is... BUGS. Summertime... *Huff* And this one is Piotr and Sergei, they work best for the bug crack!fics I find... Haha.**

Piotr sat in the passengers seat, arm leaning against the door, and the other hand on his knee. He stared out the front windshield, listening to the quiet humming beside his head. It was getting rather old. Just the other day had been the fly incident, and now... He glanced sideways then forward again, then did a double take.

A bee meandered on the taxi window. "Sergei, stop!" he exclaimed, scooting farther away from it in his seat. If there was one thing he hated, it was bees.

"HMM?" Sergei slowed down, pulling to a stop beside a curb, thinking someone needed a ride. There was no one, so he looked intently at Piotr. "Shto?"

"Sushchestvuyet pchely na okna!" (There is a bee on the window) Piotr opened the door and flapped a hand in its direction. It flew all right, just straight towards his face. "AH! Nyet!" The Russian waved his hand, ducking away from it. "Allergic!" he cried through clenched teeth, arms flying up above his head.

"GAAAAHhh!" Sergei exclaimed. His eyes bulged from his skull and he hit the button on his door that rolled down the window. He cursed its slowness as the window slowly inched downward. What he wouldn't give for a manual one...

The yellow and black bug floated back in front of Piotr, and toward the other door.

"Glupyy nasekomykh!" (Stupid insect!) He rolled down Piotr's window with his control, and again, it inched down a bit at a time. Sergei wondered... what was it about them that seemed to attract annoying bugs.

Piotr let out a loud exclamation as it flew right in front of his face- "BLaah!" He jerked back in his chair. Couldn't it have been another fly? Or anything *but* a bee?

Sergei waved a hand at the bug. "Idti!" (Go!) With that, the small insect made its way out into the summer air. Sergei grunted, scoffed, and leaned back against his seat. He'd had it with bugs. He preferred cold weather-not many bugs could live in the cold, and so there was much less of a problem with them.


	23. Chapter 23

Frustration wasn't quite the word to describe what Anatoly felt; anger and disgust may suffice. Everytime he tried to breath, either it was all but impossible - or his nose started running. He sniffed, and it sounded like a wretched noise even to his own ears. His eyes itched and burned, watery and red.

From across the room, Vladimir sneezed. The action only made him more aggravated. Broken bones, bruises, torture... easy to put up with for the right reason. Colds? No. Never. He hated colds. Only moments later, Sergei's growling sneeze echoed, loud enough to make Semyon jump and let out a string of curses.

Anatoly's eye twitched and he fought to breathe, his anger growing. The cold had been going around for the past several days.

The garage was full of sneezes, coughs, and muttered curses of frustration. Snot flew onto taxi windshields, and angry (sick) men cleaned it off again. They all refused to speak unless it was an absolute requirment, so other than the miserable and angry sounds, along with power tools and car noises...

Vladimir glanced around the garage. Nearly every one of them was sick. He didn't know how that had come to be... but he didn't appreciate it.

A loud sneeze (one that resembled a scream) echoed through the room. It was Sergei. Shortly after, someon grumbled out, "Zachem ty eto sdelal?" (Why did you do that?)

"It brings me no pleasure, it really doesn't!" Sergei growled back.

Anatoly coughed, then it turned into a bout of racking coughs. Something made its way up his throat and he closed his eyes, trying to force the slime from his lungs.

Vladimir sighed, coughed, and sniffed-hating the sound. That was it. He was calling a "time out" so to speak. No one was really getting any work done anyway. "idti domoy." (Go home) He waved one had dismissively, and people started rushing around, picking up things and heading toward the door, sneezing, coughing, and meandering miserably out the door and into the unpleasantly warm air. How they'd gotten a cold mid-summer was more than Vlad could guess.

 **Thank you for reading!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, and I don't think anyone expects me to, and *I* don't claim to, so moving right along...**

 **Enjoy!**

Life kept on; there was always a goal to move towards. No, rarely was it (At least, in most people's eyes) a 'good' goal, per se. Sometimes it all felt like a circle, always coming back to the same things.

For now, Anatoly just did the best he could. After their parents were murdered, he had just done the best he could. He had always done the best he could; and aimed for even better.

But they had been here for over two years now. Hunger was a gaping hole inside of him, gnawing away beneath his skin – the smell bombarded his rare sleep, mocking and prodding. The air was sour and rotten, and the hard floor left him sore and bruised.

There was always blood. It was everywhere, always; on the walls, the scent in the air, the floor, the prisoners…

There was a groan from across the dark room. "Anatoly?"

At his name spoken out loud, he turned his head in the direction of Oleg's voice. Anatoly's back was pressed against the damp wall, one arm over a bent knee.

"How long has it been now, friend?" Oleg asked, his young voice cracking from lack of use. For a long moment, Anatoly stayed silent, as if trying to think of his answer before replying.

"Too long," he finally said, and ended with a sigh. Vladimir and Alexei had been gone for over an hour. He had to wonder what wounds they were going to come back with this time. Or if Alexei was going to survive this beating.

Oleg was around Vladimir's age, maybe even younger; sometimes a brief question of why he was there came across Anatoly's mind. But he never asked. And Oleg never asked them, and Alexei never asked, either. Because none cared how the others came to be there, what mattered was making it through the next week, day, and even hour.

Anatoly and Oleg stayed in silence, as they had been doing before hand. Words could be useful – or a hindrance and a waste. Neither had anything to say, and friendly conversation wasn't a common happening amongst the starving and beaten prisoners.

The door creaked open, and in came Vladimir and Alexei; the guards spat out insults, and Vladimir shot back even more.

By the look of things, all that kept his brother from falling was angry determination.

Anatoly hauled himself off of the floor – and once again took a step into this cycle of the life that was theirs.

But it wasn't always going to be.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I keep telling myself I will write an author's note, and I hardly ever do...! Does that make me antisocial, or just lazy? Hm... Either way, here is another installment to Normal Days, and thank you all for follows, favorites, reviews - and greatest of all, reading! If you have any requests, prompts, so on and so forth - please say your opinion! :D  
**

 **Love you all, have a blessed Sunday - and week!**

Anatoly sighed. They had debated what to get for dinner - and came to a conclusion to order pizza. It was strange, the normal moments like that - discussing food options. Although, his brother was passionate about whatever it was he was doing, even if it was the smallest of things - like choosing food.

Vladimir glanced at Anatoly, having heard his sigh. "Shto?" He knew though-he knew what it was about. His tendency to overreact to things. Truthfully, he knew that this didn't really matter... but if a person let the small things slip, then eventually, they wouldn't be able to make any kind of choice at all, so he figured he would fight for what he wanted... even if that meant occasionally fighting with his brother.

Anatoly heard his voice and tilted his head towards his sibling, eyes meeting Vladimir's. His jaw muscle twitched and he nodded, as though needing to contemplate his words. His mouth began to form his words when there was a knock on the door.

Vlad-who had also been about to speak-stopped, and turned. He frowned slightly. If that was the pizza man, he was the fastest in the world. Vladimir picked up the 9MM from the table and glanced at his brother. He nodded toward the door.

Anatoly nodded down at the ground, hands on his hips. He started backing up before he turned to face the door, one hand moving to where his own gun was in his waist belt. He looked through the peephole before opening the door to reveal a very sweaty, very tired looking pizza delivery man.  
Eyebrows knitting, Anatoly gave him a strange look.

The pizzaman(teen), whose name tag read "Leo", looked up from the pizza box in his hands and met Anatoly's gaze. Suddenly, he looked more like a dear in the headlights. "Hey. Ten dollars and fifty cents, b-bread sticks included."

Vladimir moved around Anatoly to glare at the teen-not because he wanted to, simply because he was making that face, and didn't feel the need to change it. Huh, it really WAS the fastest pizza delivery ever. With that thought, Vladimir set the handgun on a desk beside the door-well in the teens line of sight-since he figured he'd have no need for it... He reached for his wallet, still looking at the pizza person.

Leo gulped in response, eyes now staring at the 9mm. "Here-here is your pizza. The box is on the - I mean the gun is - I mean the breadsticks are on the house."

Anatoly gave a grim smirk, that looked more silently disapproving than anything for scaring the pizza boy so.

"Hmm... Da..." Vlad "agreed" with Leo, and shot his brother a smirk. He handed the boy a ten dollar bill and pulled the box from pale and shaking hands... and he stared, waiting for the teen to do something.

"Oh." the teen said numbly. "Oh!" he suddenly jumped into action. "Right, have a good day! God bless!" Leo all but bounded away, off to deliver the rest of his pizzas.

Anatoly closed the door, breathing a heavy breath out through his nose as a replacement for a sigh.

"Shto? Eto bylo zabavno." (What? It was funny.) Vlad cracked a smile-a rare thing for him-and elbowed his brother.

"On drozhal kak osinovyy list." (He was shaking like a leaf.) Anatoly's lips pulled up in a smile still without showing his teeth. His eyebrows were still furrowed, as if now it was more of a battle to keep from actually smiling.

"Da, no eto bylo veselo smotret'." (Yeah, but it was fun to watch.) Vladimir set the boxed pizza on the table beside the gun. He shrugged.

Anatoly smiled sideways and walked forward, looking at the pizza box.  
He opened it, waiting for his sibling to take the first piece. It had been a habit since they were kids - just in case there hadn't been enough for both of them. Although, Vladimir had always managed to get Anatoly to split whatever it was with him; no matter how small of a portion.

Vladimir followed "tradition," doing as he'd always done, then looked at Anatoly, smirking. He couldn't help but find it amusing... pizza and them? It just seemed too far fetched, but there it was.

Anatoly took a piece before sinking down onto one of the couches. Within seconds his hands were covered in grease and cheese - he only shook his head before biting into the *messy* food.

 **God bless!**


	26. Chapter 26

Snow fluttered down from the grey sky as Vladimir walked along the street, and made his way into a large shop. No, it wasn't as if he could afford anything there. He and Anatoly had so little... but still, it was nice to look at things rich people might buy, and interesting to imagine that maybe one day, he and his brother would be able to buy whatever they wanted.

He glanced around. Russian music played in the background, quiet enough not to disturb the customers, but loud enough to be audible. The teen walked carefully forward, making sure to stay out of everyone's way. It was best not to draw attention to himself, as he wasn't exactly a "respectable" citizen... he was a kid in dirty rags. If they saw him, they'd kick him out... so around he walked, quiet and out of the path of other people...

Vladimir managed to make it to a corner. He stood staring at the music boxes. No, they didn't mean anything to him... but they had to his mother, before she'd been killed. He stared blankly, for a moment, the teen looked years older than he ought to.

Then in an instant, the moment of calm shattered. The store owner bumped into Vlad, sending him toppling sideways against a shelf. Several glass things fell sideways-luckily, none broke. The shop keeper started yelling, shouting in Vladimir's face. For several seconds, the teen stood there in shock. It wasn't his fault... he'd been out of the way, why was he being cursed at like some criminal?

"Ubiraysya iz moyey masterskoy!" (Get out of my shop) the man yelled, waving a finger in Vladimir's face.

Finally, the teen snapped. He growled out a reply just as loudly as the older man had. "Mozhet byt', vy dolzhny uyti, neuklyuzhiy idiot!" (Maybe you should leave, clumsy idiot!) After all, it was the man's fault this had happened. Vladimir had been minding his own business... being quiet and polite-well, until then.

***DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL****

Anatoly jogged inside of the large building. People bustled about, ignoring the young adult as his eyes searched wildly for something that would have gone unnoticed by all of them.  
Hopefully. Because if they had noticed Vladimir, nothing good would have happened.  
The elder brother felt angry and tired, and although he would hold his temper when it came to Vladimir, if something happened, there was no promise that he wouldn't snap.

He took the direction in which seemed correct, according to the way that his brother's brain worked. Rebellious but cautious.  
So he chose one isle from the middle.

Jogging, he paused only briefly to hear yelling. The yelling was followed by the frustrated words of his little brother. Anatoly bolted for the sound, heart beat picking up as he slid around one gallery and dodged between the meandering Russians.

***DAREDEVIL DAREDEVILL***

The large man-now quite livid-grabbed one of Vladimir's arms and forced him backward, to which Vlad responded by shoving the man away from him. "Ne trogay menya!" (Don't touch me) Vladimir hissed. The man glared at him and pointed a finger in his face threateningly. It didn't scare Vladimir, but rather, it annoyed him.

***DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL***

What Anatoly saw, was someone grabbing his brother. What he heard was the blood rushing in his ears. Anatoly's hands gripped the man's shoulders, and he kneed him - roughly. A shocked and pained sound escaped the large music-box makers lips, and he doubled over.

Vladimir flinched in surprise and turned, not sure what he expected. There was Anatoly... right where he always seemed to end up-with him, no matter where that was. "Spaseeba, брат." Vladimir backed a safe distance away from the angry man, and looked back at the door. He knew they should leave before someone took it into their hands to deal with the two street-children.

"Anatoly?" He looked to his brother first. He searched his eyes and face, looking for something... disapproval. He never wanted to see that look... he hadn't meant to cause trouble, it just seemed to happen.

Anatoly watched as people began to gather around, as though they were the new exhibit to stare at. The elder brother frowned and moved towards Vladimir, trying to get them both out and get through the swarm.

Vladimir took that as his cue. He moved forward, latching onto Anatoly's jacket-so they wouldn't be separated in masses-then ran, pushing people out of his way and trying to stay on his feet.

Anatoly ran. He took an elbow to the face at least twice as they made their way through the masses, but in the end it didn't matter, as long as they got out. So when they burst through the door and back out onto the street, surrounded by frigid air, Anatoly skidded to a halt.

The action of the elder jerked the younger to a halt as well. The moment their forward motion ceased, Vladimir turned toward Anatoly and looked at the bruises that were already settling on his brother's face. Vladimir frowned and bit his lip. Of course that was his fault. "Eezveeneete..." (Sorry) he muttered sheepishly.

"Eezveeneete?" Anatoly repeated, as though taking a moment before the apology sank in. He spoke again moments later, "We will be able to buy things there, one day. For now, focus on the goal, and we will succeed."

 **God bless - and sorry, I wrote this *lllattte*, posted TWICE today, wrote them BOTH within two hours, and my writing went downhill... Sorry, again.**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Preevyet! And how are you folks doing? Great, I pray! :) Here is yet another chapter... Em... Enjoy! (Very demanding and bossy, da? ;)) God bless!**

Being dragged through a hall usually bothered Vladimir. Normally, he would fight back, or walk on his own. Today wasn't like most days... today, he was actually glad to be dragged, because if he wasn't being dragged, he wouldn't be moving at all. He just wanted to be back in the darkness...

The flickering lights over the hall hurt-like someone was twisting a knife in his eyes. He saw two of everything, and he knew that wasn't right. Everything felt slow, and he was tired... that in and of itself was a concerning thing.

When the door to the cell suddenly came into view, he hadn't been exactly ready for it. He was thrown in with little concern, and landed with absolutely no grace. He muttered out a pained curse, and stayed down. (not that he would ever mention that again) He ran one hand over his face, frustrated when all it did was smear blood across his face and in his eyes. The quiet groan that escaped his lips was one that he did his best to ignore before lying flat on the freezing floor. He just wanted to sleep...

"Vladimir?" Concern was evident in Anatoly's tone. Oleg and Alexei were taken out just after Vladimir was thrown inside. Anatoly, elder brother, rocked forward from his seating position, using his hands to help push him up to stand. He crouch-walked, putting tattooed hands on his brother's bare back.

They moved over his skin, trying to find a way to help him up. Eventually, he settled for wrapping one arm under between Vlad's torso and the floor, while the other hand was set on his waist, turning him over until Vladimir's back was pressed against Anatoly's chest. Anatoly winced from an old wound and tried to peer over his sibling's head, which in this position was rather difficult.

Vladimir gasped, but quickly bit back any other sound. He gritted his teeth and figured he could throw pride out the window for once... because everything hurt, and he wasn't moving on his own. "Anatoly?" The single word was spoken like a question, and Vladimir would normally despise how childish it sounded-but he couldn't find the energy now.

Anatoly grimaced. "Da," came his reply, and he wondered if he could make it back to the wall. But, after a moment of thought, he settled down where they were now. His hand moved out, setting on Vladimir's forehead. Blood oozed over his fingers.

"Golova bolit ..." (My head hurts.) Vladimir decided that was probably obvious, and as he seemed to have a constant headache here anyway, it made little difference. "Kogda-nibud', my ostavim ..." (Someday, we leave.)

Anatoly nodded, despite the fact Vlad couldn't see the movement. He moved his hand, rubbing his now-bloodied fingers together with a look of exhaustion. Repositioning his arms to better keep the younger man from falling back to the floor, he sighed heavily through his nose.

Vlad shifted, trying to stop leaning on Anatoly. It had the reverse affect when he accidentally ended up falling back against him with a quiet thud. He growled out a curse and for a moment, he imagined himself as some kind of beetle, stuck upside down with no way to move-it was frustrating.

"Vladimir," Anatoly's voice held reprimand. He managed to get out from behind his brother, using his own strength to hold him upright as he crouched before him, searching for the worst of the wounds. Concussion, cuts, bruises. Anatoly's hands tightly gripped Vlad's arms, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern.

"Shto?" (What?) Vlad had noted the expression, and found it to be... well, he didn't really know. He blinked, trying to clear blood from his eyes. It worked, sort of. He moved one hand up and poked at a bloody cut on the side of his face. He didn't appreciate it... Muttered words and grumbling were all he managed at that point.

Anatoly used his grime-covered thumb to rub at the crimson streaks all dripping into Vladimir's eye. Hand now on the side of his brother's bloodied face, Anatoly's facial expression turned to one of silent frustration.

"Hm?" The look hadn't gone unnoticed. Vladimir closed one eye, hoping this would stop him from seeing two Anatolys.

Dark thoughts filled Anatoly's head, as demons whispering in his ear. Sometimes, he found it hard to discern between Utkin and Hell.

Anatoly's hand moved back down to its former place on his sibling's shoulder, patting Vlad's arm before his fingers tightened.

Vladimir couldn't help but notice that his brother hadn't said anything... or perhaps he'd missed it. He didn't really know... he broke the silence with a quietly muttered statement. "Tyur'ma v Amerike budet, kak zamok." (Prison in America would be like a castle.)

Anatoly's smirk was tense and grim.

he world spun for a moment, and Vlad latched onto Anatoly's shoulder so as not to go crashing to the floor. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "YA ustal." (I'm tired) He assumed that wasn't a good thing-but it was the truth.

"YA razbuzhu tebya v chas..." (I will wake you in an hour...) Anatoly repositioned himself to sitting behind Vladimir once more, keeping him upright off of the stained and damp floor.

"Spaseeba..." (Thank you) Vlad mumbled. Tired eyes slid shut and the world went dark. He took a deep breath, and focused on something beyond the pain... something more. One day, they would escape this. One day, it would all be a distant memory-one day, they would rule, and suffering would be a word that held no power over them... one day.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: He's speaking in Russian, but I'm going to assume that you all can guess that...**

Rain fell outside, lightly patting the roof – rhythmically singing in the dead of moon was blocked by the thick clouds, and the only light was parents were gone- he knew where they were, too, even if they didn't mean for him to find were trying to pay off a debt that his father had dug himself into.

Anatoly couldn't time he would lie down, his heartbeat thrummed loudly in his head, and he could almost feel it jolting his thoughts threatened to drown so, the twelve-year-old sat on the floor in the living room, hoping he hadn't woken his three-year-old brother on his way out.

He sighed and let his head fall to rest in his hands.

Vladimir had indeed known when his brother left, but not because he'd woken up... it was because he'd never been asleep. So, the three-year-old rolled off the short bed, and made his way out of the back room and toward Anatoly, who was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room.

Withe the normal grace of a toddler, his approach was given away when he tripped and landed with a thud. He pushed himself up and looked toward Anatoly with shock, as though he'd not expected to fall.

Anatoly looked up at the sudden noise."Vladimir, what are you doing?" he queried in a whisper, and turned, half-crawling on his hands and knees, and half pulled the child from the floor and into his arms, readjusting until they were both in a comfortable position.

Rather than talk, Vladimir made a sound resembling a bird, and looked up at Anatoly with wide eyes. He reached up with both hands and swatted at Anatoly's face.

Vladimir-being only three, and incapable of "obeying"-continued to attempt to hit Anatoly. He shrieked with childish glee and laughed-the sound maybe a bit too evil for someone so young.

"Don't," Anatoly said through clenched teeth, his head tilting even farther away from the hands that reached. Sometimes, he feared what his devilish brother was going to be like in twenty years... He only hoped that his future self would be able to handle it.

Vlad stopped, pouting and looking rather sad... that is until he decided that his brother's hair would be interesting to mess with. And so he went after it as well as short arms could manage.

Anatoly huffed, and the supposed-to-be-annoyed sound turned into a reluctant smile. "When you're old enough, I'm going to teach you how to hunt, and fight - and leave my hair alone."

Vladimir's head tilted back so he could look at Anatoly. He laughed, leaned forward, bumped into Anatoly, then leaned back again. "N'et."

"Da." Anatoly grinned and once more repositioned the kid in his arm.

Vlad shook his head defiantly, but was still grinning.

Anatoly leaned his forehead against Vlad's, still smiling.

Vlad got what he wanted-which at that moment was a fistful of hair, which he gently tugged on. He laughed evilly, but decided to release his "prisoner."

Anatoly let out a disbelieving snort. He pulled away, ruffling his sibling's short (Soft, may he add) hair.

Bright eyes blinked rapidly, and Vladimir jerked his head back to see what Anatoly was doing. He waved a hand at Anatoly's hand and then yawned, slowly losing energy. Being difficult wasn't so easy.

Anatoly stood up and headed back to the bedroom. He walked through the narrow door and towards the small bed, setting the three-year-old down.

Vlad toppled over sideways and pulled the blanket over himself, disappearing from view. "Spokoynoy Nochi..." (Good-night) Another tired yawn came from the blanket-covered child, then he closed his eyes and instantly drifted off.

 **God bless. :)**

Anatoly made a grunting sound, turning his head away. "Don't hit your brother." He pushed away Vlad's hands with one of his own.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Happy independence day, America. God bless.  
**

Anatoly sat on the hood of the taxi, distantly staring at the lights that exploded in the air. He breathed out a sigh through his nose - the frown vanished into a thoughtful expression.

Vlad-also leaning on the taxi-stared at the lights that flashed brilliantly against the dark sky. It wasn't like this anywhere else... the realization was clear to him. Coming from a land that didn't have these freedoms caused a person to wonder at the simple things. There was no "Independence day" in Russia... or anywhere else really-only America had this day.

Hundreds of people had all wandered outside, and now sat on the ground in parks, or on truck tail-gates, or various other places. It was all so surreal to Vladimir-who'd never really seen anything like this before...

Anatoly took a drink from the bottle he held, and leaned back, smelling the burning scent left by the fireworks. A loud pop made him refocus on the sky - reds and oranges sprinkling down and vaporizing before they hit the ground.

For the first time in a long time, there was a sense of peace... no one was fighting now. There wasn't anyone trying to kill anyone else. People were there... together. They all accepted each other, even if it was a temporary thing. It seemed so unreal to Vladimir, like watching a movie he wasn't a part of. This was what he'd wanted as a child-freedom and peace...

Anatoly shook his head subtly - it was surreal. Yes, tomorrow people would fight, yesterday families killed their own - but today, yes, there was peace, and there was independence.

"Why did they do it?" Vlad asked-in English for once-as he turned to Anatoly.

"They took the freedom no one offered to them." Anatoly watched another set of fireworks in the air, but his mind wasn't on the superficial meaning.

Vladimir nodded... what the people of this country had once done, was what his brother and he had done. Freedom wasn't truly free... it was bought with blood and pain, but worth every bit of it.

Anatoly glanced sideways at his sibling. This was their life now.

Fireworks continued to pop and burst in the air, raining down and vanishing.

 _Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light_

 _What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?_

 _Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,_

 _O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?_

 _And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,_

 _Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there._

 _Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave_

 _O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?_

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.  
—Galatians 5:1


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Well, here's another one - thank you everyone for reading so far! God bless, and enjoy. Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Fourteen-year-old Anatoly sat at the table, and at the head of the table, his father sat, reading an old book. His mother dished out food onto the plates, talking to herself all the while. Anatoly could smell the scents that wafted through their small house, and his mouth watered.

"Ivan, how's the book?" The woman queried, setting her hand on her husband's arm, hoping to get some sort of conversation started at the table.

Anatoly eagerly picked up his fork and drove it into the mashed potatoes.

That was when five-year-old Vladimir decided to pipe up. "N'toly? When will my feet reach the ground like yours?" He swung his feet forward and backward, bumping them against the chair legs as if to emphasize his point.

Before Anatoly raised the fork to his mouth, he answered, "Eventually, brother." He raised it, mouth opening.

"When's that?" Vladimir asked, crossing his arms and leaning against them as he pulled himself up to stand in his chair.

Disappointment flickered across Anatoly's face, and he lowered the silverware. "I don't know, how old are you?" Anatoly queried as though he didn't know.

"Five. How old are you?" Vladimir laughed and grinned up at Anatoly.

"Hm," Anatoly paused for a moment, his expression contemplative, "Fourteen." A grin spread across his face.

"'kay. I'll be that someday, won't I?"

"Of course you will." Anatoly quickly snagged his fork again, once more opening his jaws - mouth watering.

"How come I get in trouble so much?" the random change in subject was not unusual for the five-year-old.

He lowered the fork again with a sigh. "That's a good question, you'll have to tell me." Anatoly's words were followed by a smirk.

"No, you tell me."

Anatoly's expression was silently disapproving. He huffed out a quiet breath, eyebrow quirking.

Vlad fell back in his chair and shifted around until he his feet were under him. He poked at his food and looked at Anatoly. "Why do grown-ups sit a certain way?"

Anatoly frowned, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. "Vladimir - it's time to eat."

"No fun." Vladimir complained. He pushed his fork away from himself, and instead, picked up his food. (Which started to get messy almost instantaneously)

"No no no-" Anatoly blurted, shoving his own plate aside as he scooted his chair closer to his sibling. He snatched a napkin-cloth from beside the plate, lightly gripping one of his brother's hands and wiping it off on the napkin. "Don't do that, Vladimir," he chided. Meanwhile, his parents conversed, somehow unaware of his troubles.

Vladimir smiled. He'd gotten what he wanted-which was his brother's attention. "Okay..." He watched as Anatoly attempted to get the sticky substance off of his hands... and he beamed like a kid in a candy store.

Anatoly sighed again - somehow, as long as his eyes remained open, every day, his energy continued to seep away into the air. And somehow, Vladimir got more energetic at every passing hour - maybe his little brother was stealing it, somehow...

"Use your fork," he uttered quietly, ready to scoot back to his own place.

For once, the child obeyed. He picked up his fork, gripping it in a tight fist. He jammed it into the food and stared at it as it oozed through the fork. Hunger wasn't something he felt right now. Just boredom.

Anatoly's stomach growled. Before taking a bite, he stopped, eyes shifting in Vladimir's direction as he expected something else to happen; a food disaster, or another question. When nothing came, he shoveled in a bite.

Vladimir continued to stare at his food, and occasionally take a bite-more like a nibble. He resembled a very large mouse... with no interesting in food. But he ate anyway, only because Anatoly told him to do so.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Thank you for reading, everyone!**

"But you always say that!" Natalya covered up her anger with an annoyed smile. Ivan replied with a blundered,

"Enough! Why do you always want to argue, woman?"

"Oh, I want to argue? All I said was, we don't have the money-"

"We 'never' have enough money, that's all I hear! I work all day to support this family, and I come home to complaints..."

Anatoly was trying to block it out. He was. The yelling match continued at the small wooden table in the homely little house - something that felt very far from being a true home at the moment. The fourteen-year-old winced as Ivan pounded his fists on the table to get his point across.

Natalya's voice rose to an angry shout as she responded to his latest insult.

It was ridiculous. Did they enjoy the petty arguments? Because he had a five-year-old brother at the moment, sitting next to him, hearing his parents blowing up at each other in the main room. And believe it or not - that effected children. He knew that fact well.

The even-headed teen ground his teeth together, his head ducked - short bang-like hairs falling into his eyes as he poked absently at his food.

"Don't yell at me in front of the boys!" Natalya screamed. Rather counter-productive, Anatoly mused sourly.

"They need to hear this - one day they will be stuck in the same situation, they need to know how to-"

"Stuck? What, stuck with a hard-working wife and two children?!"

Anatoly's temper came to its end like a man caught by a noose. "SHUT," he paused, his voice an angry yell, "UP!"

Vladimir flinched at the shout, but rather than fearing the sound, he moved closer to Anatoly... his brother was one his side, whereas his parents didn't seem to be. The five-year-old looked up at Anatoly and whispered, "Why are they fighting?" He knew what they were fighting over... but he didn't understand why they fought, and didn't just fix the problem.

The house grew increasingly quiet, and the parents both looked at Anatoly. Ivan looked livid, while Natalya looked tired and frustrated. "Don't you tell me what to do." Ivan's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"Don't tell him what to do," Vlad spoke up defiantly. He crossed his arms and glared. Getting in trouble seemed to be a talent he was born to... so this was not unusual for him.

Anatoly returned Ivan's stare, and didn't break it even as his brother moved closer to him, standing up to their father. Ivan was the one who broke it, this time his furious gaze meeting his youngest son. "What have you been teaching them, Natalya?" he asked, even as he looked at them.

She didn't answer, only dropped her head into her hands.

"Do I have to punish you both?" he angrily whispered through clenched teeth.

Vlad wasn't sure he should answer that. He didn't like being punished, but then again, he didn't like just giving in to what other people wanted... if felt weak. "You can't catch us." That was what the child went with. He figured Anatoly could run pretty fast... and Ivan couldn't. He himself could hide, and Ivan wouldn't find him. Punishing people you couldn't find would be hard. Vladimir puffed out his chest proudly. He saw no flaw in his logic.

Anatoly's eyes subtly grew, and he glanced at his brother, then quickly looked back at Ivan as if sizing up his reaction. Ivan stood up from his chair, stalking towards them. He wasn't normally like this.

"Ivan," Natalya said in shock, gaping at him.

"Father," Anatoly's voice was calm, steady, and he stood up, moving in front of Vladimir's chair. He held out a hand as he spoke, "Father?"

Vladimir knew he'd made a mistake. He didn't want Anatoly to have to deal with what he'd done, so he stood up in his chair and hopped off of it, walking to his brother's side. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean it." He lied. He'd meant it, but he wouldn't let Anatoly be hurt because of him.

"I just wanted you to stop fighting," Anatoly jumped in. "Forgive the disrespect." The words felt bitter coming off his tongue, but he said them anyway. He wouldn't let Vladimir be hurt because of him.

Ivan's shoulders relaxed, and he gave a nod, although his expression was still tense. "Go to your room while your mother and I finish this conversation."

Vlad turned and stomped off like five-year-olds do. He glanced back and muttered "Conversation..." then rolled his eyes with as much drama as he could muster.

Anatoly only hoped they hadn't noticed - blessedly, at least Ivan hadn't. The elder brother followed Vladimir to the other room, lagging behind. When they arrived, he shut the door after himself - and locked it.

"I don't like when they converse." Vlad grumbled, throwing himself onto his small bed and shooting a pouting look toward his brother.

"I don't either," Anatoly spoke, half climbing, half crawling onto his own bed. He laid on his back, one hand resting on his forehead

"They... don't really like each other very much." Vladimir's statement was followed by the rather pointed action of throwing a pillow at his brother.

Anatoly grunted when it hit his face. He choked down a sigh. "Vladimir," he chided, tossing the pillow back.

"Anatoly." Vlad tossed it back. "No one likes being bored." Vladimir smirked

"Not right now, brother." He pressed the palm of his hand against a closed eye.

"Yes, I don't like being bored, not right now." He climbed off the bed and walked across it. He didn't mean to bother Anatoly, but he wasn't going to let his brother mope about their parents "conversation" either.

Anatoly huffed out an amused laugh. He turned his head to watch his sibling's movements, "What are you doing?" he queried - sometimes he worried about what was going through his head...

Vladimir smiled. He didn't have a plan... so he improvised. He grabbed a book off the floor and ran to Anatoly's bed. He pulled himself onto it and jammed the book into Anatoly's hands. "Read...?" It was half order, half request.

Anatoly nodded, opening the book. "Where do you want me to start?" he asked, randomly flipping through the book.

"At the beginning." Vladimir thought the question was an odd one. To start a book, one must start... at the start.

Perfect logic, Anatoly mused with a smile. He rolled over and sat up, setting the book on his knees. "Eighteen-year-old captain Loslin Kelser stood in his quarters..." Anatoly began, voice filling the room.

 **God bless: The book line is from Talwan's Vengeance, by Christy & Sarah Newman. **


	32. Chapter 32

Anatoly sighed. Some things were harder than others - some trials more challenging then the ones that had gone before. This was proving to be one of those trials. "Vladimir, stop." His voice stayed calm - despite the disapproving expression he wore.

The two-year-old toddler-with much difficulty-used his tiny arms to yank off his shirt... halfway. It stuck somewhere over one arm, and half his face. His blonde hair stuck out in tufts and he shrieked with laughter.

The eleven-year-old kneeling in front of him let out a shaky breath to calm himself. He tugged the shirt down again, twisting his upper body to grab the shoes he'd left behind himself. The last thing. He started patting the floor, eyes roaming over wood as he searched.

Vladimir's eyes sparkled. He plopped down on the floor and tugged off his socks. He gripped a sock-one in each hand-and chucked them at his brother's face. His face shone with glee.

Anatoly flinched, his eyes closing. He breathed noisily, fists clenching. Making a strange face, he opened his eyes again, picking up the socks and pulling them back onto Vladimir's feet.

Vladimir did not want the job to be too easy, (as most two-year-olds don't) so he began to squirm and writhe around... laughing maniacally all the while.

Anatoly grunted when a tiny foot kicked his face. He tried to hold him down as he put the socks back on. "Don't hurt your brother," he spoke quietly.

Vladimir sat still... or his feet did. His hands found a way to tug off his shirt. (Again) He got it halfway off when his fingers got stuck. He grunted quietly, then made a laughing shrieking sound that was louder than the first had been.

Anatoly huffed - it sounded indignant. He stuffed on the shoes and pulled down his shirt again, lightly gripping his wrists.

Vladimir grinned-the expression gummy, as a two-year-old's ought to be. He tried to reach his brother's face... but it wasn't easy with such stubby arms.

"Stop being annoying!" The other boy exclaimed, eyebrows furrowing, even though his eyes began to sparkle with amusement.

"N't!" That was his version of "no" at that age. Vladimir wapped at Anatoly's face with little success, but he was amused at least.

Anatoly, in response, jabbed at his ribs in a tickling manor.

Jolting laughter shook the child and he tried to escape his brother... though he had little success. Vladimir laughed uncontrollably.

Anatoly laughed, and grinned. He rocked back, sitting down and resting his arms on his bent knees.

Vladimir smiled and pushed himself up, looking a bit like a beetle. Once he'd managed though, he threw his arms around Anatoly-or as far around as his arms could reach. He grinned up at Anatoly, blue eyes sparkling brightly.

Anatoly smiled, ruffling soft blond locks.

The younger brother latched onto Anatoly's hand and just held it, because he knew he'd done it-he'd made Anatoly happy. That was what he wanted... that was what children wanted-happiness.

 **God bless!**


	33. Chapter 33

Vladimir stood in front of the sink watching the water flow from the tap to the chipped bowl. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter and muttered in annoyance. Finally, it was full. At least, full enough. He picked it up carefully, making sure not to spill any of it, grabbed an old cloth from the counter top, and head toward the door that led from the kitchen to the living-room.

On his way, the fifteen-year-old caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was shocked at just how tired he looked. Dark smudges took up residence under his eyes, and his hair was stuck in all different directions. He shrugged and moved on. At the moment, he didn't have time to fix it.

Once he was in the living room, Vladimir walked quietly over the cold cement floor. It wasn't much, but they were poor... having any floor at all was a blessing. Bare feet padded across the room and he reached the couch-turned-bed on which Anatoly lay. He looked pale and his skin glistened with sweat. The fever refused to break, and this was the second day. Vladimir knelt beside the couch and set the bowl beside himself. He soaked the cloth in the cool water, wrung it out, and carefully placed it on Anatoly's forehead. The fever had to break. If it kept rising... Vladimir shook his head. He'd cross that bridge if it came to that.

Anatoly stirred, a wheezing sound coming from parted lips. He swallowed roughly, his facing contorting in discomfort. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and he tried to move through the darkness that had trapped him.

"Anatoly, sh... Just me." Vladimir patted his brother's shoulder gently. At the same time, he pulled down the blanket he'd given Anatoly last night. The nights were cold, but the fever had done more than enough to require the blanket's removal. So remove it Vlad did. He pushed it off of Anatoly's chest and glanced up for a moment, meeting glassy and fevered eyes.

Anatoly shakily rose his arm, letting it drop against his sibling's, "How long?" he croaked through dry lips. He shifted, back slowly arching off the couch as he made a pained squeaking sound. He was counting down the days, the hours, and the minutes - when would it end?

"Two days." Vlad grimaced. He knew that Anatoly felt awful. He was doing all he could without the assistance of medicine. If he could afford it, Anatoly would have it... but as it was? Vladimir rocked back on his heels. "I'll get you something to drink. Don't move this..." he lightly tapped the damp cloth.

Vladimir quickly stood up and walked back the way he'd come minutes ago. He made his way toward the window which he used as an impromptu refrigerator-it worked well-and picked up a cold glass of water. He carried it back through the kitchen and out into the living room.

The past hours he'd been in a haze. He hadn't slept since Anatoly's fever worsened. Vladimir was tired now, but he refused to sleep until Anatoly seemed to be recovering.

Again, Vladimir sat beside the couch. Carefully, he set the glass on a small desk to his left. After a moment, he put an arm under Anatoly's shoulders and helped him sit up, mumbling something about making sure Anatoly didn't drown. Vladimir retrieved the glass of water and looked into blue-grey eyes, waiting for Anatoly's response.

Anatoly emptily stared at the glass, frowning in concentration as he tried to focus his eyes. His vision blurred, eyes burning with fever, and his head fell backwards. He struggled to breath in the new position, gasps coming from his now-exposed throat. His sleep had been filled with strange dreams, and waking hours stretched on in strange hazes.

Vladimir scrambled onto the couch beside Anatoly and put a hand behind his head, held the glass to his lips and spoke the simple order, "Drink." It paid to be bossy and insensitive sometimes... this was one of those times. If it helped Anatoly, it had to be done.

Anatoly groaned, his breath rippling the water. He did as he was ordered to - spluttering. He gripped the glass with a quaking hand, and his other latched onto Vladimir's wrist as he swallowed - as though trying to find something grounding in the feverish Wonderland world.

Vladimir pulled the glass down for a moment waiting patiently. After all, drowning didn't sound like a good way to die. After a moment, he moved the glass toward Anatoly again.

Anatoly took another drink before desperately pulling away, turning his head. A strand of hair fell into his eye and sluggishly he flinched.

Vladimir lowered the glass. He let out a quiet breath and put his free hand on Anatoly's forehead. Still hot... not surprising. If he could get him to drink more, he'd be better off. Still, he waited until Anatoly was ready.

Anatoly's teeth clacked together as he shifted his lower jaw. "...Drink?" he managed to whisper, his face still pinched in discomfort. He couldn't take the time to notice how pitiful it sounded.

Vladimir nodded. He brought the glass to Anatoly's lips again. Vladimir couldn't count the times his older sibling had taken care of him. He owed Anatoly his life, but what he was doing now wasn't "repaying a debt" it was taking care of his family... his brother. It wasn't forced. This was something he chose to do.

Anatoly drank as much of the water as he could before once again pushing it away. He tried to steady his breathing, jaw working, teeth gritting in the process.

Vladimir glanced at the glass. It was half empty now. That was good enough for the time being. He leaned over and placed the glass on the desk again. "Feel better?" He knew Anatoly didn't really feel much better, but surely he was better off than before. Still, Vlad decided he was going to open a window-probably the kitchen window-to let in cool air. He'd close it every twenty minutes so the house didn't freeze.

"Da - thank you, Vladimir." Anatoly spoke on the verge of hoarseness still - but it had faded, his voice starting to return. He let his head fall back against the couch.

Vladimir nodded. A small smile tugged at his lips. Anatoly was getting better, though slowly. Vlad nodded and moved off the couch. He sat on the floor, looking up at Anatoly.

Anatoly's chest continued to rise in fall in more steady breaths, the slightly strangled sounds filling the room. "It's cold," he mumbled, blindly reaching for the blanket - he was tired of going from freezing to burning. A clammy hand grabbed the blanket, weakly hauling it towards himself.

Vladimir nodded slowly and yet again moved forward. He put a hand on Anatoly's forehead. He was actually a better temperature than before. Vladimir allowed Anatoly to pull up the blanket knowing full well that he might have to take it later. Still, he could hope. "That's a good sign." His statement was one he hoped was true.

Anatoly's eyes opened to slits and he stared at his sibling, huffing out noisy breaths. He pulled the cloth against his torso.

After a moment, Vladimir moved forward and helped Anatoly lean back down again. He sank to his knees beside the couch pushed the blanket up to his sibling's shoulders, but not farther.

Anatoly breathed out a sigh. Just a few more hours, he promised himself.

 **God bless!**


	34. Chapter 34

Anatoly moved down the street, holding his jacket together with one hand, hiding the food he had... absconded. The young man moved off of the road, taking a side path that led off to an abandoned house. The winters were blistery - proved by the piles of snow he had to trudge through. Just a bit farther. Wind blew, howling and slamming against the ransacked house before him.

He moved up the stairs and onto the porch, to the door, quickly moving inside the house. He shivered, breathing out steam - his fingers felt numb by this point.

The moment the door had been opened, Vladimir was there, circling his brother like a vulture. At first, the fourteen-year-old said nothing, but he eventually gave up on silence. "Did you get anything? I don't see why I had to stay here..." Vlad continued talking, but it all ran together after the first two sentences.

Anatoly breathed out a sigh - it sounded relieved. "Yes," he replied, un-zipping his jacket and moving with the bag. He set it on a creaky old table, pouring out the contents. Bread - toppings, container of fruit, and canned soup.

Vladimir smiled. "It's been weeks since we got that much. How'd you do it?" Vladimir's fascination with crime would probably land him in jail... but he couldn't help it.

"It doesn't matter," Anatoly said slowly. His brother's intrigue could have been worrisome. "Knife?" he asked, pulling out the bread and toppings.

Worrisome would definitely describe the fact that the teen happened to be carrying the kitchen knife in his sleeve. He slid it out and passed it to Anatoly.

Anatoly took it from his sibling. His nose started running, and he sniffed harshly. He cut into the bread, leaving it in slices. "Get as much as you want." Anatoly's lips twitched up in a smile; he couldn't remember a time he had spoken that sentence aloud.

Vladimir grinned. Still, even with the permission, he still only took ONE, because they would need it tomorrow... if they made it last, they wouldn't have to go out again for a while. Okay, two wouldn't kill him-he took another, then looked at Anatoly.

Anatoly nodded and pried off the lid to the fruit - the fruit would go bad first. He jabbed the knife into the top Heirloom Tomato and plucked it from the blade's point with his teeth.

Vladimir-who so happened to be carrying ANOTHER knife-poked it into the can and pulled out another. He repeated the action his brother had taken. "Not bad..." Truthfully, it was better than not bad, but he wouldn't let on... It was all sort of a game.

Anatoly huffed out an amused sound, turning the knife over in his hand before repeating his earlier action.

"So, where'd you get it?" Vladimir glanced up at Anatoly. Blue eyes scanned his brother's face and he waited.

"A store." Anatoly's didn't offer any details.

"Hmmm..." Vladimir nodded. He knew his brother hadn't paid for it. It went without saying. "All right." He paused a moment. "Thank you."

Anatoly looked up, silent for a moment. He nodded and blinked.

Vladimir returned the nod. "Next time though, we go together." He didn't want Anatoly to get caught "purchasing" what they needed, and if they both went "shopping" one could always cover for the other.

Anatoly hummed in agreement. Any choice they may have had in the matter had been stolen from them - ripped away with innocence. They survived; and one day, they would be princes, and they would rule.

 **God bless!**


	35. Chapter 35

Blue eyes looked up at the frustrating thing that kept him imprisoned. He'd tried everything... it was stuck. Frustration turned to something else. The five-year-old tried to unlock the door... he couldn't. He didn't know how it had even gotten locked. Vladimir had managed to lock himself in the back room of their family's small home... and he was trapped. So, like any sensible five-year-old... he panicked.

Anatoly had looked - he couldn't find his sibling. He'd been gone for the past twenty minutes. He'd checked outside, as that tended to be where he normally disappeared, but there had been nothing. He'd checked the whole house, except for the pantry and small back bedroom. The older brother moved towards the backroom, trying to ignore the thoughts swarming in his mind.

Vladimir leaned against the door and trying to unlock the door again. It didn't work... he couldn't make it open. The first thing on his mind was that Anatoly would come. Five-year-old Vladimir stood on the tips of his toes and pulled on the door. It was still shut. "Anatoly...?" the first attempt to call his brother was quiet-the second, not so much.

Anatoly sped up to a jog until he reached the door. He gripped the door knob, twisting it, and being met with the resistance of the lock. "Vladimir? What's happening?" he called urgently - had someone broken in?

Vladimir bit his lip. He didn't want Anatoly to be angry... he was trapped, and it was his own fault. He swallowed convulsively, and answered, "It's stuck... Can't open it." The admission was worried and quiet.

Anatoly let his head fall against the door, taking deep breaths as his heart raced. "Can you reach the lock?"

"It's stuck! I can't... I can't!" The statement became one of panic. He'd tried and tried again.

"Vladimir - Vladimir," Anatoly repeated, his voice drawn out and calm. He put his hands against the door, listening. He still could have influence - a door couldn't change that.

Vladimir took a breath-more like hiccup-and leaned against the door, listening. "Hm?"

"Is the other door is still locked?" Anatoly queried

"Y-yes..." Vladimir's tone was apologetic. He was finding it hard to be his usual self in that moment.

"There is a pin on the table - one of Mother's pins, do you see it?"

Vladimir turned around. Wide eyes scanned the room until he saw the table. He made his way toward it and pulled himself up then reached over and patted the top until he found the hair pin. After retrieving it, Vlad walked back to the door. He sat down on the floor and pushed it under. "What's it for?" he asked, no longer concerned. Anatoly always knew what to do.

"To unlock the door - I'll teach you how," Anatoly spoke, sounding patient as he knelt, pushing the bobby pin into the lock. He turned it, pushed it farther, until he could feel the lock between the two sides - and turned again, this time it started moving. He continued twisting it until it clicked.

Vladimir recognized the click, and didn't wait a moment longer to pull open the door with a single-extremely fast-movement. He practically toppled onto Anatoly. "I was stuck." He announced it as though Anatoly hadn't already known, then wrapped his arms around his brother's neck.

Anatoly wrapped one arm around his sibling. "You're fine now," the fourteen-year-old spoke.

With a slow nod, Vladimir pulled back, sniffed quietly and looked back at the door. "You said you'd teach me to unlock it?" His expression brightened considerably.

Anatoly smiled and gripped Vladimir's shoulder. "Of course."

 **Two in one night! Hope you enjoyed - God bless, and goodnight.**


	36. Chapter 36

Anatoly moved back to the couch - the last few hours had been filled with pacing, treating injuries, and holding in emotions. Emotions that consisted mainly of frustration and anger. His brother had a concussion, broken ribs, and a broken wrist.

Vladimir heard his brother's approach. He opened one eye-the other was stuck shut and refused. He tried to push himself to a sitting position, but quickly realized it wasn't a wise choice. "When," wheeze, "did we get back?" He cringed as he took a breath.

"Yesterday." Anatoly sat down on the chair he'd pulled to the couch - his expression grim, though it didn't make it into his voice. He spoke with calm.

Vladimir huffed out a painful sigh. Crime didn't always pay, that was a true statement. He closed his eye, trying to keep the lights out-they hurt. His head ached from seeing them. "What happened? Don't remember..." He couldn't recall exactly what had happened.

"You refused the _m*doks_ in charge of the operation." Anatoly breathed a soft sigh, looking over his sibling's battered face.

Vladimir brought a hand to his face and poked at it. He groaned softly. Well, he hoped that didn't last long... or that-that was unsettling. His finger traced along a line of stitches. "You..." he seemed to lose track of where he was. "Stitches?" He asked.

Anatoly smirked mirthlessly. He nodded, blinking slowly as he did so. "Da."

Vladimir blinked one eye as he stared at the blurry image of his brother. "How bad do I look?" he muttered, coughing quietly.

Anatoly tilted his head for a fraction of a second, "You've looked worse."

Vladimir breathed out a quiet laugh-he found it to be quite painful-and tried to catch his brother with a slight punch-that hurt too. He grunted out a word that his mother would NOT have approved of, then looked at his bound up hand. "Its broken, isn't it?" He closed his eye and breathed a very long sigh.

"Yes - stop moving," Anatoly commanded - hoping it was one of the rare occasions when Vladimir actually listened. He gripped his lower arm, inspecting the bound hand to insure he hadn't hurt it further, or had accidently re-done any of the damage.

Vladimir nodded slowly. He could swear his brain was no longer attached correctly, and was just sort of floating around banging into the sides of his skull. He muttered a quiet complaint. "How long do I have to "not move?" he asked. He didn't know how long he could survive without moving... boredom would kill him before pain ever did.

Anatoly rocked back in his chair. "Until you're healed. Poker?"

Vladimir sighed. It would be better than nothing... and besides, his "poker face" was unreadable under the bloody cuts and purple bruises... so he was bound to win, he only had one requirement. "We play for money."

Anatoly huffed in amusement, pulling out the deck of cards on the table beside them. He pulled them out, shuffling and hauling said table between them. "Start the bet?"

For a moment, Vladimir thought about it... "Fifty." It seemed like a fine place to start. He smirked at Anatoly.

Anatoly pursed his lips then went to separating cards and chips, matching his brother's price. He had a feeling Vodka and gambling were in the future.


	37. Chapter 37

He'd finally succeeded. Anatoly sighed in relief, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, back leaning against the wall. There was nothing more difficult then getting a two-year-old to fall asleep. Or even stay in bed.

It was at that moment that Vladimir-the difficult toddler that he was-rolled toward the edge of his bed until he could reach an arm out and bat Anatoly's head.

Anatoly's initial feeling was denial - then disbelief. He thumped his head back against the wall, blinking up at the roof.

Vladimir tumbled off the bed, landing on Anatoly's lap. The child sat dazed for a moment and he paused, wondering what manner of trouble he could cause. His eyes brightened. He knew just the thing to get Anatoly's attention. With a bit of trouble, he moved until he was sitting upright, then thumped his head against Anatoly-just like he'd seen a stray cat do-cats always got what they wanted.

Anatoly's head jerked up and he sat, surprised, for several moments. "Vladimir," he exclaimed in a whisper, trying to keep his chin higher then the child could reach. Looked like things weren't going to be that easy.

Vladimir had gotten the attention he wanted-now he just had to keep it... so he kept up his act, "pawing" at Anatoly, and laughing quietly

Anatoly puffed out a noisy breath when Vladimir lightly pawed at his face, imitating a cat. "You have to sleep," he tried to speak patiently. He tried to push away the other boy's hands, though he doubted it would work for long - his brother had always been... resourceful.

Vladimir managed to get a hold of Anatoly's nose. Laughter bubbled from the child and he refused to let go.

"V-" Anatoly's sentence was interrupted, and he only sighed, letting his eyes slide closed as he held back his temper. Vladimir wanted attention, maybe if he stopped getting reactions he would finally go to bed.

Vladimir didn't let go. He wanted a reaction. He wasn't even tired. He looked up at Anatoly with slight desperation. "Toly?" he asked.

Anatoly slowly pried off the small hand, and kept his eyes closed, head coming to rest against the wall.

Vladimir bumped his head against Anatoly's chest. "'Toly...?"

Anatoly gnawed on the insides of his cheeks - his mother had told him before that he shouldn't always give Vladimir what he wanted.

Vladimir leaned against Anatoly and thumped tiny hands against him. At this point, he no longer wanted attention, he wanted to know why Anatoly wouldn't move. The two-year-old's mind turned to worry. "N'toly?"

Anatoly's heart fell when he heard the tone. He recognized it well. His eyes opened once more, peering through the darkness. "Yes, Vladimir?" he whispered, looking into wide-blue eyes.

"Thought you were dead," Vladimir whispered. How was a two-year-old to know better? He didn't know to check for a pulse... Thinking critically wasn't his first thought.

It had certainly not turned out as Anatoly had hoped. "No," he replied calmly, gently guiding on of his sibling's hands to his neck. He pressed it against the skin beneath his jaw. "Do you feel that?" His eyes glinted and he smiled for showmanship - looking as though he held some great secret he wanted to share with his brother, and only him.

Vladimir stared distantly. There was something-every second or so-that pushed against his fingers... a drumming. Vladimir's eyes widened and he forgot his worry. "What is it?"

"It is a sign," Anatoly began, "A sign I am alive. As long as it is there, I'm alive."

Vladimir nodded. "So, it's still there when you're sleeping?"

"Yes." Anatoly stood up, this time pulling his brother up with him. He moved back to the bed, he'd lost count of which time this was tonight, and set him down.

The child wondered if he had it too... he pressed a hand against his neck, but he couldn't find it. "M I dead?"

"It's there. On yourself it takes longer to find." Anatoly pulled the blanket over the two-year-old.

Smiling, Vladimir blinked tiredly up at Anatoly. He yawned. As much as the boy tried, he simply couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Goodnight, Vladimir." Anatoly briefly smiled, before crossing the room and collapsing on his own bed.

 **God bless! SherlockAvenger: Off to attempt your request!**


	38. Chapter 38

**Part 2 of chapter 36!**

Stormy eyes stared up at the cream-colored roof. Vladimir ground his teeth and shifted on the couch. After three days of being basically a paralytic, he was quite willing to get up and run laps... whether he should or not. So, with painstaking slowness, he pushed himself with his unbroken wrist. He grimaced and pulled in a pained breath. Carefully, he looked around to ensure Anatoly wasn't hawk-eyeing him. No, he was clear.

He swung his legs off the edge of the couch and stood up. Vladimir bit back the groan that tried to escape as a stabbing pain shot through him. Ouch. He pressed a hand to his ribs. The bones felt like they'd just shifted in an attempt to squish his lungs. He grunted and remained standing, trying to be quiet. Alerting one's older brother was not the best way to stay standing.

Anatoly wondered, how after everything, one's mind could still feed them strange information in the form of dreams. Strange information such as clowns dancing on skyscrapers - or in this instance, Vladimir demanding Anatoly to read a children's book to him. He shrugged off the remained of the dream, ignoring the strange feeling that had attached itself to his mind in the wake of said dream.

He frowned, looking rather disgusted as he glared up at the roof. The sun hadn't even risen yet - and one thing he didn't like was early mornings. The Russian shook his head and moved off of the bed, raking his hands through short disheveled hair.

Best to make sure his sibling hadn't decided to go outside - _again_ , he might add...

Carefully, Vladimir told himself. He must move carefully. If he wanted to make it to the door... to the outside world, he must be silent. He just wanted some fresh air. The past days had been torture. It wasn't like he'd been stuck to the couch for the entire time, but moving between three rooms every once in a while was not good enough. He needed to see the sky...

Part of his mind knew he was actually doing it because Anatoly had TOLD him not to. Vladimir had never liked being told what to do. It didn't sit well with him.

He was halfway to freedom when his ribs demanded his attention. He made the mistake of pressing on them with his bandaged wrist. Ouch. He clamped his eyes shut and stayed silent. Pain wasn't that bad, he told himself. He was ALMOST to the door...

When Anatoly spotted his brother, he mused on the fact by the end of the day his patience had been stretched so thin he had no reserves left for anyone else. Perhaps that is why everyone saw him as heartless, a sadist, and all around disgusted - and being part of the mob, it tended to work out all right that way.

He had to remind himself why he would be calm when it came to his sibling - because one of them had to be. Nothing happens, conversations and debates go no where if they are spent in yelling and angry words meant only to harm, yet held no truth. He knew that first hand. Best to understand that when it came to others with short-tempers. And learned it he had.

He stalked through the shadows, fists clenched by his sides. By the time he reached Vladimir, the man had momentarily stopped. "Brother," he rumbled quietly, knowing that more was coming off of his tone than words would suffice to say.

Vladimir flinched. "SU-A... Umm... Anatoly." In his focus, he'd not realized his brother had entered the room. He was caught again. He spun around-regretted the decision-and almost fell. He steadied himself and frowned. "I just-I was just walking. A day more without doing something WILL kill me."

Anatoly smiled, despite what still gleamed in his eyes. He nodded in feigned belief and moved forward, pulling one of Vlad's arms over his shoulders. "I will give you Vodka," he paused, grunting as he took more of his injured brother's weight, "We will gamble, discuss business," He started walking back to the couch, "But you rest."

Vladimir grumbled under his breath. The only GOOD thing he'd heard in that sentence was "Vodka." "Fine, but if we keep gambling, you'll have no money." Vladimir plodded along beside his brother, grumbling the entire way. He was tired of sitting. He was certain his head would explode, because his mind was working too fast for his body to obey-and it was frustrating.

Anatoly smirked at Vladimir's words, then proceeded to help him sit back on the couch.

Once on the couch, Vladimir stared at Anatoly with a vacant look. "How long? If the boredom doesn't kill me, I might finish the job."

Anatoly sat down on the chair again - his post for an unknown amount of time. He looked up from where he had previously been staring in thought - eyes widened as he caught half of what Vladimir said. He stayed silent until the entire sentence, and question, hit him. His jaw muscle twitched and he tipped his head sideways. "I'll bring Vodka, for both of us."

Vladimir laughed, then coughed. "Vodka-you know, in America, they'd never let you-or me-near a car..."

Anatoly stood up again, "Would going to America keep you from leaving every time I'm not in the room?"

Vladimir shrugged. "America is the future-or so I've heard." He grinned. "If I get the chance, that's where I'll go."

Anatoly said nothing this time, but left in search of alcohol.

Vladimir stared after him. He blinked and leaned back against the couch. The old leather creaked and Vladimir sighed quietly-the sound lost as he was alone now. He could make a break for the door again, but he wasn't stupid... and Anatoly wasn't in the mood.

Anatoly came back, setting down glasses and the container on the coffee table.

Vladimir watched silently. He wondered how many years of their life they drank away... Still, he never imagined himself living long enough to be "old," so it was never a real concern to him.

Anatoly filled them and handed one to Vladimir before he leaned back, crossing his legs and holding his own glass in one hand, staring contemplatively and watchfully at Vlad.

"Shto?" Vlad stared over the rim of the glass at his brother.

Anatoly breathed deeply and shook his head, taking a swig of the drink.

Vladimir returned his attention to the extremely alcoholic beverage. He found himself pondering how good of an accelerant it would be. "How easily would a fire spread if you used Vodka with it?" he mumbled aloud.

"Very." Anatoly found it strange - like deja vu. His brother used to ask so many questions - as though he was an answer dispenser, though that hardly happened anymore. He doubted this query was aimed specifically at him, most likely a spoken-aloud thought.

Bringing one hand slowly up to his face, Vladimir ran a hand gently over it... nope, it wasn't any better, not that he'd expected it would be. "How long will I be locked inside?" he asked it with a cold tone-he didn't mean to bother his brother, sometimes it just... happened. Of course, at times, he DID mean to... so it was all relative.

"Until you're healed." Anatoly had heard the question before in the past few days - worded differently each time, granted.

"When will that be? I feel fine right..." His body disagreed, throwing him into a coughing fit. "...now..." he wheezed.

Anatoly frowned - they had a long couple of weeks ahead.

He took another drink, swallowing what felt like fire.

Long weeks indeed.


	39. Chapter 39

Anatoly's eyes stayed closed. What light was shining through the window burned - as it always did now. He wondered what it would be like to be in the sun again. His brother was across the room - Alexei slept, and Oleg had been thrown in unconscious. Which explained the normal state of things, Anatoly mused bitterly. Somedays it was him being tossed so carelessly to the floor, others Vladimir, and others still, Alexei.

Vladimir shifted, standing slowly and stepping over Alexei-nearly kicking him-as he moved toward Anatoly. The movements were purposeful, but painfully slow. When he finally reached his brother's side, he slid down the wall and sighed. "How long?" he asked, pondering how long they'd managed to live here and stay sane.

Anatoly opened his eyes and turned his head far enough to see him. He shook his head and swallowed, "Slishkom dolgo." (Too long.)

"Da." Vladimir agreed. One day was too long, a week was too long... but they'd been in far longer than that. Vladimir never doubted that one day, they would leave... he simply wondered if they would still be sane by that point.

Anatoly sighed, pain beginning to throb behind his eyes. He pressed fingers against his eyelids. Sanity was a hard thing to keep hold of when inside a madhouse.

"Shto?" Vlad figured it was simply like all the others times-pain, or exhaustion. Still, that didn't stop him from asking.

"It started with me. The choice I made - I made then? It got us here," Anatoly breathed, still pressing against his eyes. He moved his hand down to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Vladimir." He half sighed, and half whispered the never before spoken confession.

Vladimir elbowed Anatoly-not gently. "Nyet." He shook his head. "Anatoly, I'm just as much to blame."

Anatoly grunted then huffed in amused disbelief. He subconsciously put a hand over his formerly-elbowed ribcage and stared at the wall across from them. Their shoulders pressed against each other's, but neither noticed. The room went from sweltering to freezing, they were covered in blood and sweat, the air reeked, and they had never had an all consuming desire for personal space.

Vladimir's gaze moved across the room as Alexei snored-the sound resembling an oncoming train. It was amusing, almost humerus. He smirked, just slightly.

Anatoly followed Vladimir's line of sight, watching the sleeping form of the other prisoner.

Thoughtfully, he spoke - "I want to taste freedom again. As long as we breathe, we fight."


	40. Chapter 40

Blue eyes scanned the scene before him. Several men were sprawled across the concrete, blood smeared between them. One groaned, another cursed, but none of them got up. Vladimir searched for Anatoly. He and his brother had been attacked by the unfortunate souls now flat on the ground. Snow fell from the darkened sky, and twenty-year-old Vladimir looked up. He needed to make sure Anatoly was all right-though he guessed his brother was fine. "Anatoly?"

Anatoly spat out blood from his bleeding gums. His hand was against the brick wall to support him. "Da," he called back in reply. He straightened up, stepping over an unconscious figure as he looked for his sibling.

Vladimir spun a slow half-circle until he faced Anatoly. He spotted him through the darkness of the street. "Why did they attack us?" Vlad huffed out a sigh. He didn't mind a fight-but he wondered what drove them to attack Anatoly and him.

Anatoly spat once more, fists tightly clenched by his sides. He cursed at one of the men as he passed, growling out a 'name'.

A small action by one of the men drew Vladimir's attention. The grounded man was reaching for his gun. Vladimir stopped his movement by stepping on his hand-simple enough-and kicking the gun away. His boot met the man's face, and he smirked... there wouldn't be anymore trouble from that one-not for a while.

Anatoly stepped by Vladimir's side. Often times they were targeted - but rarely like this. He frowned, his overall expression one of disgust.

"You would think they would learn," Vladimir stated. Truly, he wondered why these types of people bothered. Perhaps because he and Anatoly were with the Russian mafia? That should be all the more reason to drive people away. Clearly, it didn't work on everyone.

Anatoly shook his head. This seemed to be their normal days for the past several years.


	41. Chapter 41

The small living-room was uncomfortably tense. Despite the outside temperature, the house was hot and stifling. Five-year-old Vladimir stood by Anatoly's side. Blue eyes stared at the bland brown carpeting as he listened to the constant stream of berating from their parents. He stayed by his brother, wondering how much they had done wrong to deserve this.

"You should be more respectful when I tell you to do something." Their father's voice was harsh and loud.

Vladimir nodded slowly. He didn't want to respect him at all when he talked like that, but he wasn't going to argue.

"Today was a disaster. If you both had done as I'd asked, we wouldn't be having this conversation, do you understand?"

This time, Vladimir knew he was speaking to Anatoly, so he made no movements and didn't speak.

Anatoly tensed, and bit his tongue. The tang of blood filled his mouth, and he swallowed it down. "Yes." His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms. He knew what his father wanted. "I'm sorry." The words came off, and he tried to make them sound honest - if they sounded it, the lecture would end more quickly. They sounded strained even to his ears.

"Are you?" his father queried harshly, a dare hidden in his tone. He wanted him to make a mistake. But he wasn't going to give him something else - he wasn't going to give him more ammunition to fire at him and his sibling.

"Of course," he said, a small smile plastered on his face - fake. Fake it for survival, it was what he had been taught, whether they knew they had taught him or not.

Vladimir scowled at the ground. He hated having to pretend when nothing was actually true. He kept his burning gaze down, hoping that their parents hadn't seen.

"It should never happen again. Go. Don't come back until you're called."

Vladimir slowly rotated, just waiting to be called back... waiting to see if he could possibly mess up something as easy as turning around.

Anatoly turned, slowly herding his little brother towards the room - although he forced slow movements, so as not to get called back already for somehow walking to fast, or, 'rudely'. Perhaps it would be 'angrily' this time, or... He dislodged the thoughts from his mind. They both understood, and the two brothers had a silent conversation; get to the bedroom as fast as you can without turning around, or somehow making them even more mad.

Because oh, for the times that had happened.

Vladimir dragged his feet, just a tiny bit. He wanted to look back to see if they were glaring; but he wouldn't. The room was so close now. Finally he reached it. In one movement, he reached up and grasped the doorknob, trying desperately to make it open. He let go and looked up at Anatoly.

Anatoly opened it and put a hand on his brother's back, slipped inside, and closed the door behind them. He almost immediately leaned against it and slid down to the floor, grasping at his hair anxiously as he desperately pushed away rising emotions.

"They're mean." Vladimir's statement broke the quiet. He looked at Anatoly for confirmation.

Anatoly's smile was mirthless. More of a grimace. "Da." He shifted, taking a deep breath and thumping his head back against the wood.

Vladimir turned around, shifted until he was beside Anatoly, and slid down to the floor with a quiet thud. "We don't need them, only each other. Right?" He wanted it to be only them. He didn't trust other people anymore. People were cruel-it was all Vladimir could recall as long as he could remember... except Anatoly.

Anatoly put an arm around the five-year-old, and stared at the wall on the opposite side of the tiny back room. He sniffed and closed his eyes, nodding distantly. "Da."

"Good." Vladimir sighed and leaned against Anatoly. He always knew what to do-and Vlad always trusted him. "Will they ever leave us alone?"

Something flashed in Anatoly's eyes. "One day," he spoke quietly. A dark tone was laced in his voice.

"Mhm..." Vlad agreed, though not certain what he was agreeing to, it didn't matter, because it was Anatoly-and he was always right.


	42. Chapter 42

The refrigerator hummed quietly, the background noise in the house. Anatoly sat on the couch beside his brother, bottles on the table before them, quite a few already emptied. Glasses and cards were strewn across it. In the back of his mind, he wondered what it would take for him to actually get drunk anymore. He poured himself another glass, setting the bottle back down. He crossed his legs, one arm over the back of the couch, and stared at the glass.

Vladimir shot him a sideways glance and leaned forward. Setting his glass on the table, he traded if for the bottle-just because. He stared through the clear-glass at his older brother. " _Do you remember the first time we had alcohol_?"

Anatoly snorted. " _We were desperate, looking for something to drink in the house. Yes, I remember the first part. The rest is blurry."_

" _Our father told us... anything we found, we could drink_." Vladimir stated, making sure to point out how it wasn't their fault.

" _And drink we did_ ," Anatoly said with a smirk as he did just that, the alcohol burning down his throat.

Vladimir smirked. " _Then Mother caught us..."_ He laughed slightly. _"She was mortified. I was what... eight_?"

Anatoly leaned forward, downing the rest of what he had left. "We are almost out." He frowned at the scattered bottles, and eyed the last one as it seemed to mock him from its place. Vladimir nodded. This was true. While perhaps they ought not drink so much so quickly... they did what they did.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Written by RubbleStrength! God bless.**

The song in his headphones blared loudly over everything else as Dmitri worked in the taxi. With one foot out the open door to keep it open, he worked at changing the broken sun-visor. Screwdriver in hand, Dmitri twisted the screws out of the old visor, then slid it out of place.

As Dmitri worked, he hummed quietly along to his music, focused solely on his task. Once the old part was removed, Dmitri retrieved the new one. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he cut the tape off the unopened box. Taking a few moments to inspect it, he didn't notice someone walk up to the taxi-nor did he hear when the person asked him a question. Dmitri kept humming along.

His focus was pulled to reality a moment later, as one of his ear-buds was pulled out, and the sound of the garage came flooding in. Dmitri swung around in surprise. "Vladimir!"

Vladimir frowned and said nothing for a moment.

Dmitri assumed Vladimir had asked a question, and that he was suppose to answer it. If he'd heard, he would know what it was. "Prakticheski zavershennyy." (Almost finished.) Dmitri's eyes widened. He hoped he'd answered correctly.

"Khorosho." (Ok) Vladimir turned and left Dmitri to finish his work.

With a relieved sigh, Dmitri grimaced. That had been close. He decided to finish his job without music, as it wasn't worth the trouble he'd nearly gotten in. With years of practice working on cars, Dmitri replaced the visor within minutes, and left the vehicle, closing the door after himself and heading toward the next car in need of work... broken window. Wonderful. He frowned, wondering who'd broken it. He really wished they would be more careful... unless they intended on fixing it themselves...

So Dmitri's day went on-as most days did-fixing odds and ends in cars until the sun set.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: SECOND VELES TAXI RUSSIAN ONESHOT. You may want to read the one before this as well! God bless.**

Semyon strutted down the hospital hall. Another job well done, he mused with a smug expression. Simple in and out, as those in movies always said – only difference between him and the movie characters was, he actually succeeded.

His thoughts were halted by a searing pain exploding in his foot. He howled, trying to jump out of the way, only to discover his foot was now trapped under an over-weight woman's wheelchair wheel. He spewed out a strewn of Russian curses, tugging in vain. There was nothing he could do. He was trapped beneath the wheel. Anger simmered and he continued spitting out choice words, which were now directed at the woman. A woman who emptily stared at him, her oxygen tank quietly whirring.

Finally, she rolled off. His attempts of pulling himself free sent him flying to the floor. With more grumbled complaints, he slapped his hand down on the syringe that had gone rolling from his pocket.

His mother had always told him pride came before a fall.


	45. Chapter 45

Anatoly walked through the back hallways, looking for his sibling's office. Long day was an understatement - only long because of what happened, or the lack of what happened. He'd been going between rooms, the garage, and thinking about driving, among other things. He opened the door, quietly slipping inside and looking for Vladimir.

The man was ducking around his desk, glaring at some unseen object as he held a file in one hand. He hit the table with it before letting out curses. Anatoly's eyebrows rose and knitted together. "Vladimir?"

"Shto?" Vladimir glanced up for the briefest of moments, only then to bring the file down in another spot. He missed it, and blurted out another string of words unfit for most to hear.

Anatoly watched him trying again - attempting whatever he was attempting. The elder brother moved forwards, expression bordering on one of caution. "What are you doing?" he asked calmly.

Vladimir sighed and looked up just for a moment. "Dealing with something." He set the file down carefully and picked up several papers stapled together. As fate would have it, the papers were the American alphabet, and several grammar rules. He huffed. There it was again... hundred legs rushing across the desk. It wouldn't live to see another day. He slammed down the paper on the hundred-legged creature.

Slowly-and very cautiously-Vladimir leaned over and pulled up the edge of the paper. The armored bug was still alive. With a disgusted grunt, he held a hand toward Anatoly. "Vodka..." He waved his hand toward several bottles of alcohol across the room.

Anatoly stepped forward, snatching a bottle from on top of a cabinet. He handed it to Vladimir, squinting at the desk, looking for whatever he had waged war against.

Vladimir muttered a "thank you" and picked up the paper. He then proceeded to dump alcohol on the metal desk-glad it wasn't wooden. "Match," he requested. Anatoly didn't move as fast as he hoped. "MATCH before he gets away!"

Anatoly pulled a lighter from his back pocket, flipping it open and staring strangely at his brother even as he handed it over. Sometimes it was best not to question him. As the man shifted, turning back to the desk to watch the inevitable flames exploding - he jumped, letting out a string of choice words as the centipede crawled in his line of sight.

Vladimir smirked as he watched the centipede catch fire and write into ashes. Blue eyes sparkled as he looked toward Anatoly. "Now, you wanted something? It's done."


	46. Chapter 46

Four-year-old Vlad sat on the floor, staring across the room at Anatoly, who had just finished saying "Be quiet" in a rather all-too-similar to their parents' voice... and it was funny. So, rather than be quiet, Vlad had laughed... and laughed. He'd been unable to stop, so, when the knock sounded on the door, and a loud statement of "Be quiet!" was stated, Vladimir almost lost it. He clapped a hand over his mouth and tried not to laugh... how he tried. He looked across the dark room at Anatoly's silhouette... he wondered if his brother was having as much trouble.

"Yes," Anatoly replied to their mother, his voice sounding odd even in the whispering tone. He grinned crookedly.

Vlad laughed and quickly face-planted into his pillow. Anatoly's timing had been perfect... no one could have timed it better. Vladimir peeked out at Anatoly again. "Be quiet," he laughed, adding a "SHHHHHHHHHHH!" for good measure.

Anatoly all but flung himself across the room, hitting him lightly on the back of the head with a laughed-out-hush. Their mother moved back down the hallway, slower than normal.

Vladimir grunted and laughed, wacking at Anatoly. "That's what she said it like though," he defended, whispering quietly.

Anatoly agreed quietly and fell backwards on his sibling's bed, staring up at the roof.

Vladimir stood up, just for the purpose of falling back down the way Anatoly had done. "Does this make noise? If we do this, are we not quiet?"

Anatoly smiled and huffed out a near-laugh.

Vladimir grinned-rather evilly. "Does it?"

"Yes, now sit still until the storm passes," Anatoly spoke quietly, smiling, still waiting for their mother to go back to bed.

"Is the storm Mom, or is the storm a actual storm?" the child asked.

Anatoly started laughing - he was sure he was sleep deprived, and if he hadn't been sure of that fact before, he was now. He couldn't come up with an actual answer, only laughter.

Vladimir chuckled gleefully. He was certain his brother's laugh was the best sound in the world, and he was the one who could make it happen. Vlad laughed, hoping that this wouldn't get them in more trouble... probably would. But it was worth it.

Anatoly's forehead came to rest on the child's shoulder as he continued laughing, the sound trying to be quieted - though his attempts of that were proving fruitless.

Vladimir laughed and grinned, he glanced back at the door to make sure no one was coming. Luckily, no one was... yet.

"Is that a yes, then?"


	47. Chapter 47

Piotr bit back a groan. He couldn't begin to count the times he had gotten head injuries - from head vs. windows, guns, lead pipes, door frames, cars in general, fists - a large variety of things. He wondered how much more his skull could take before it cracked in half. He remembered being in the garage, working underneath one of the cars - it had somehow fallen from its suspended place. After that it was a blur, just a headache made from the devil - the pounding like a heartbeat slamming pain through his head.

Vladimir-with the help of Sergei-had brought Piotr from the garage, to his office. From his seat beside the couch, Vladimir shifted, looking at the bleeding injury. He wasn't exactly a doctor, but he knew enough. "That was close," he announced, looking Piotr in the eyes for a moment. Vlad's attention moved back to the wound. Head wounds were always sketchy... the bled like a river, making it impossible to see how bad the injuries were.

Piotr winced, leaning forward. His hands blindly sought for his face - or more specifically for the wound. He tried to touch the blood-gushing-site. "What day is it?" he whispered, talking half in English and half in Russian as though he hadn't noticed the switch.

"What day was it when you blacked out?" Vlad asked rather than answered. Truthfully, Piotr had only been out for a few minutes. Vladimir pushed Piotr's hands away and muttered something about interfering. He decided it didn't need stitches. Vlad shifted and leaned back in his chair, reaching for a clean cloth that Sergei had set on the desk. He moved back, and set it against the cut. Vlad applied pressure... not too much.

"Who are you?" Piotr asked, growing tense. Whatever memories he had been holding onto before seemed foggy and distant - just out of reach.

Vladimir's expression blanked. Worse than he'd thought... concussion perhaps. "Vladimir." He paused. "Do you remember your name?" He recalled a time that Anatoly had gotten a concussion in Utkin. He'd forgotten where he was, who he was, and who Vlad was... It had lasted for a matter of hours.

Piotr paled. He fought to prod the wound, reaching almost desperately. "No no," he muttered, urgency growing in his voice. "Utkin

Vlad shook his head. "No, America." He continued to apply pressure and swatted Piotr's hands away.

Piotr took a shuddering breath and quaked as blood ran down his neck. "America?"

Vlad nodded. "Four years. What do you remember?"

"Da... Da... Veles Taxi?" Piotr sighed, closing his eyes before crimson could drip into them.

"Mhmm..." Vlad frowned as he focused again on the bleeding gash. He pressed the cloth more firmly against it. He'd need another one at this rate.

"Vladimir... Vladimir..." Piotr whispered, running the name through his mind. Yes, it was a somewhat common name, yet still it seemed more familiar to him than just that. Realization hit like lightening and he opened his eyes - they grew rather wide as he stared at his boss.

Smirking, Vladimir knew Piotr was remembering. "You remember now?"

Piotr nodded subtly. He slowly leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on his knees. He sat still, even as the hollow pain droned on.

"You won, by the way," Vladimir stated subtly.

"Shto?"

"The fender bent... your head didn't." Vladimir stated with the slightest laugh.

Piotr belted out a short laugh - before cringing in discomfort. "Maybe now we use it as target," he spoke. He decided he had a certain grudge against that taxi.

Vlad shrugged. "Maybe." Keeping one hand on the wound, he glanced over the rest of Piotr's face. Luckily, he seemed mostly uninjured.

: Piotr stayed in the same position - keeping still. It was going to be a long work day...


	48. Chapter 48

Piotr's heart hammered in his chest. Gunshots rang through the air of the old warehouse, a deal gone south. They'd only been in America a year, starting a taxi service. He held his gun in one hand, the only way he could - his hand was slick with blood, his grip weakened by that fact. Piotr had his other arm around Sergei's chest, trying to haul him out of the door.

Sergei groaned, eyes shut tightly in pain. He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. He'd imagined many things that might happen today-but being shot wasn't one of them. Sergei cursed as a bullet flew past his head. He brought up his gun and fired in the direction of whoever had shot at them. The door was close... closer with every step. Yet it couldn't come fast enough. The dull ache of the bullet wound pulled at him, distracting him from reality. He needed to focus if he and Piotr were going to make it out of this alive.

Piotr yelled in his native tongue as he moved backwards. He shot again, watching one of the dealers drop with a cry of pain. They were out of the door, now to get to the car... He opened the passenger door, pulling and pushing the wounded man inside. He ran, sliding over the hood of the car and landing nimbly on the other side. He all but jumped inside the drivers seat, starting the engine. With one hand he drove, turning the steering wheel as the car backed up - the other hand fished through the glove compartment. He pulled out a piece of cloth, pressing it to the bullet wound on the other man's side. "Sergei?" he called, for the briefest of moments glancing at the fellow 'cab driver'.

Sergei grunted and winced. He pressed a hand against the injury and at the same time jammed his gun in the glove compartment. "Vladimir won't be pleased..." Sergei grumbled, distantly staring out the window as Piotr drove.

Piotr could still feel the blood running over his hand. He looked over at Sergei again, debating a hospital - that was quite often a question for them, wondering if it was worth it, having to explain some false story they would buy just long enough to help him. "Hospital?" he asked simply. He would call Anatoly eventually, but for now...

Sergei weighed the options. He wasn't in extreme pain... it was just aching-bullet wounds did that. Still, there was a lot of blood. "Da..." He coughed and shifted, adjusting to a more comfortable position.

Piotr hit the breaks and turned off on another road that led to a hospital - with doctors and surgeons he actually could trust. He straightened the car and ignored the honking horns - continuing to apply pressure to the injury. One of which he was becoming concerned with, the bleeding hadn't stopped, if anything it had gotten more extreme.

Sergei careened sideways, cursing as the car fishtailed. "Maybe I should drive!" He exclaimed, gripping the dashboard with one hand. He knew that wasn't a good idea, of course. Sergei leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He wondered how long it would be before he passed out... the pain seemed to steadily morph and change. It ached, then stung, then ached again...

Piotr watched for the familiar sign beside the road. He took one of Sergei's hands and pushed the cloth into it, pressing it against the wound. Both hands free, he turned when the sign appeared - more carefully this time. He drove to the end of the looming building, parking. His hand slipped on the door handle as he tried to get out, and he let out a sound of annoyance, hopping out and moving to the passenger side once more.

Sergei shoved his own door open and hauled himself out, muttering under his breath all the while. "What are we going to tell them this time?" he muttered. It was mostly just cover for police reports. After all, hospitals had to report all gunshot wounds.

"I'll deal with that," Piotr replied, pulling one of Sergei's arms over his shoulders. He moved to the doors, managing to get inside. He wondered if they were going to do the usual and make him sign papers and more papers, leaving them waiting for another twenty minutes.

Several people turned, staring in shock. A woman-clearly not hospital staff-screamed. Sergei glared and tried to ignore the stares. Luckily, he didn't think they would be waiting long today. Sure enough, only seconds after the woman's scream, people burst into the room. Doctors, nurses, and a few others.

Piotr watched as they started pulling him away, speaking to each other in drugs, medicines, and codes. The other man sighed as a nurse came towards him, explaining the papers. He took the clipboard from her hands with finality, "Yes," he drew out impatiently, giving her a warning stare as he stalked to an abandoned corner of the room.

He still had to call Vladimir and Anatoly. With a loud sigh he went to scribbling answers on the first page, wondering how long it would be...

Hours later, Sergei blinked, eyes opening to stare up at the white ceiling above him. He groaned and his eyes shut again. Hospital. He wondered what Piotr had told the doctors. Sergei fiddled with the hem of the hospital blanket, mentally going over what actually happened.

...Piotr hung up the phone after another short conversation with the Ranskahovs. It had been a long past few hours - between talking to the police, nurses, doctors, his employers, and watching the unconscious man's back, so to speak. It wasn't safe for them here, he supposed because of their 'job occupations'. But it was what it was. He was fully prepared to leave as soon as they had to; if his lie was discovered, or if their former-allies decided to follow them.

"What did you tell them?" Sergei asked, figuring Piotr was probably in the room, though he hadn't seen him. It was something of a rule really.

"My brother and I were walking down street when attacked..." Piotr, speaking in English, trailed off, figuring it spoke enough for itself. The man moved across the room, sitting in the highly-uncomfortable chair beside the bed. "The bullet missed your organs."

"Yay me," Sergei muttered, flapping on hand down on the bed with a smile that was more a grimace.

"Yes - you're alive," Piotr replied, leaning back in the chair.

Sergei nodded listlessly. "Thanks to you... and your terrible driving."

Piotr smirked, clasping his hands and leaning forward this time. "You're welcome," he said - pointedly.

Sergei huffed and waved a hand at Piotr. "Bah!"

Piotr laughed quietly. He would stay as long as he had to - or until they were forced to leave.


	49. Chapter 49

Footsteps echoed on the dark halls of the prison. Fourteen-year-old Vlad walked forward between two guards. The doors and halls seemed endless... he just wanted to see his brother, that was it. As he walked, he focused only on that. It had been almost six months. No one had let him near the prison... he hadn't seen his brother in nearly half a year. They'd caught him stealing-of all things. But it was for a good reason, was it not? Anatoly had only done what he'd needed to... he'd done it to keep them alive...

Still, Vladimir had been taking care of himself for the past months, waiting for the chance to get in-and this was that chance. He had to make sure Anatoly was all right. So along he went, following one guard, and staying barely ahead of another.

"Stop here." one ordered.

Vladimir obeyed, only because he had to. The door creaked open, and a guard nodded to Vladimir. He walked in and the door slammed behind him. One of the men called through that he had ten minutes. Just then, a door across the room swung open... Vlad held his breath without even realizing it.

From the sound of it, he guessed there was going to be another prisoner held in the same room. The last two had both ended up dead, or, Anatoly assumed as much, as they'd never come back. He cracked his eyes open, his breathing labored. He stared blankly at the door, waiting for someone else to be thrown in. He wondered how long it would go on. He'd already lost track of time, the sun and moonlight pouring in through the small window, but he'd lost count of the days.

"Anatoly?" Vlad walked forward slowly, cautiously. It had been so long... He only had ten minutes, so he couldn't stall.

In the darkness, Anatoly's breathing stuttered. There was a pause before he was moving, all but crawling. "Vlad'ir?" Anatoly coughed, even as he all-but-desperately-scra mbled forward, the blood smeared on the floor his bane.

Vlad erased the distance between them and dropped to his knees beside Anatoly. For a moment, his hands hovered over Anatoly's shoulders. In another second, the teen wrapped his arms around his brother. "I tried to get in before... I couldn't. I'm sorry it took so long."

"How did you..?" Anatoly huffed out a breath, quietly struggling for another.

Vladimir shifted back, keeping both hands on Anatoly's shoulders. He looked his older sibling over. "What did they do to you? I should kill them..." He grumbled under his breath, completely missing Anatoly's question.

Anatoly made a laugh-resembling noise, though what it truly resembled was more of an exhausted puff. "How long?" he managed, voice hoarse.

"Six months..." Vladimir mumbled as his fingers accidentally located a cut on his brother's shoulder. He grimaced and muttered an apology. "I'm gonna get you out... somehow. I've got ideas, just need to get things going..."

Anatoly had given up trying to talk his sibling out of things. He put a hand on the ground to steady himself, and shook his head. "You have to be..." he coughed, "Be... careful."

"Says the one in jail..." Vlad retorted. "I've only got a few minutes left in here." Taking a breath, the younger brother shifted. He pulled Anatoly-with some difficulty-to the wall. Again, with what little light there was, Vladimir glanced over Anatoly. "How badly are you hurt? You'll be all right...?" It was a statement, and a question. He needed Anatoly to be okay.

"Yes..." Anatoly rolled his head against the wall to look sideways at his brother. His eyes moved briefly to the roof as he fought to catch his breath.

That would have to be good enough for now. "I'm gonna get you out, okay? I will. I met someone who knows the warden here..." Vlad lowered his voice to a whisper. "He wants me to get something for him, and once I do, he said he'd get you out."

Anatoly nodded, letting the room fall into silence. Vladimir had mere minutes now. "You've gotten what you needed?" he asked, his eyes falling closed now.

"Mhm. 'course I have... though it looks like you haven't," Vlad stated quietly.

Anatoly managed another nod. Vladimir was fine - months, it had been months. He'd wondered on the most painful nights what had become of his brother... He was alive. Anatoly repeated the fact like a lifeline.

"I got what the guy wanted-I..." Vlad paused as he heard someone walking past. He leaned closer and whispered, "I hid it and told him I had to make sure you were all right before I gave it to him." With that, Vladimir tilted away from Anatoly again. He had to meet with the buyer, give him the thing, and then the man would arrange Anatoly's release.

Anatoly opened his mouth to reply, when a guard opened the door again.

"Times up!" The man blurted. "Let's go!"

Vladimir patted Anatoly's shoulder. "I'll see you soon." His expression was one of determination. "Very soon." He backed away, doing as the guard had told him and leaving. Nodding once to Anatoly, Vlad stepped outside the door.


	50. Chapter 50

The ship rocked on the waves, water lapping against the sides. Blue rippled for miles - there was no land, only sea and sky, and they met, blue against blue. Anatoly stared, eyes glued to the sight. He sat by the edge of the ship, bandaged chest rising and falling in labored breaths. A broken rib and a mild concussion, someone had told him, though he couldn't even remember their face. It had been a blur, one of cold and pain and determination.

Around him on the ship, he could hear people talking - quietly conversing as they practiced English. America. Escaping Utkin, they'd released the other prisoners - most half dead, some couldn't even stand and follow them as they fought their way out. But some had. And those same ones were on the ship with them. A man named Sergei; he'd watched their backs from the moment they'd broken him free. Others - Piotr, Dmitri, Semyon, Ivan, Maxim...

Anatoly went back to looking out at the vast ocean.

Vladimir joined Anatoly. He leaned against the railing and let out a long sigh. "Thirty-six men, and us." He nudged his brother's shoulder as they stared out at the dark water.

Anatoly nodded. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt what he did feel, relief.

"Three years..." Vladimir stated. It sounded like so little time, but to see the sky after three years... it was like seeing something from a fairy tale. It was almost magic-nearly too unreal to actually admit to.

Anatoly promised himself then - they would never again lose what they had. Especially not their pride.

"Do you wonder what it's like there?" he asked, staring intensely across the ocean as though he could see across it that moment.

Anatoly frowned in thought. "Free."

Vladimir nodded. "Like us."

"Yes," Anatoly sighed, closing his eyes, "Like us."

 **A/N: So, this brings us to the conclusion of Normal Days... Thank you all for the support. If you want more, Rubblestrength and I have started a sort-of sequel called Unusual Days... So that's up! God bless you all. :)**


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